


Licentia

by starseeker95



Series: Alternatum [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Amica Endurae, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Self-Harm, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 25,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseeker95/pseuds/starseeker95
Summary: Rung is so used to helping everyone else that he forgets to save himself. Hopefully, his crewmates can reach him in time...





	1. Chapter 1

Froid was laughing at him in the corner. He was always there, laughing, either with his arms folded or piddling with one of the models. More often than not, he would poke at the one labelled _Fatal Archetype. _It was his favorite to mess with.__

__He wasn’t real. Of course he wasn’t. But what does it mean when the psychiatrist is the one hallucinating? Primus, he was really starting to crack wasn’t he?_ _

__“A little late to acknowledge it now, isn’t it Wrung?”_ _

__“It’s Rung. You know that.”_ _

__“Of course I do. But no one else seems to remember, so why should I?” Froid gave the model ship a particularly hard jab, even though his fingertip went straight through the ship’s side._ _

__The orange mech watched, half hoping that the other psychiatrist would magically become solid and shove the model onto the floor. The look of surprise on Froid’s expressionless face would’ve definitely been worth the loss of one little model ship. “Is that so? Have you considered that the reason they remember you is for the things you stole and not the things you did for yourself?”_ _

__“Really? Perhaps I should remind them of the secret no one remembered. No one but you and myself, of course.”_ _

__It was the same threat every time. Even when Froid had been around, it had always been the same blackmail, even down to the same wording._ _

__“Should I remind them of what everyone seems to have forgotten?”_ _

__Hurriedly but concealing his panic well, Rung would calmly answer without looking up. “That’s completely up to you.”_ _

__And just like always, Froid would retreat, saving his morsel for later. He wouldn’t tell. Despite their roe, their sparks were too closely intertwined for him to do that and both psychiatrists knew it._ _

__Even though the Froid in the corner wasn’t real, Rung caught himself reaching for his chest. Sometimes it still ached, burning deep in his lines. Missing his amica hurt. Sometimes the pain took him off his guard, striking when he was with a patient or when he was refueling at Swerve’s._ _

__Rung blinked down at the datapad in his hands and realized that he’d read the same sentence at least five time by now. Though he wanted to sit it aside, he knew that doing so would mean admitting victory to the mech in the corner. The orange mech cast a glance up at Froid through his glasses. The other psychiatrist was watching him, his field imperceivably. After all, he was an imagination. The white and blue mech wasn’t truly there, he wasn’t real anymore. He couldn’t have a field._ _

__“I wonder what they’d do to you if they found out. If someone told them about what happened back then…”_ _

__The orange mech sighed, feeling his spark wilt within his chest. He knew exactly what they’d do to him._ _

__Rodimus wouldn’t have much to say, at least not by way of anger. No, the young prime would be stunned and then sad. He would feel deeply betrayed if the truth came out. Rung imagined that the easy going captain would be unable to look at him and would turn the situation over to his second-in-command._ _

__On the other hand, Ultra Magnus would be furious. Already, Rung could easily imagine the huge blue mech towering over him, his shadow casting the psychiatrist into darkness. He wouldn’t be gentle when he recited Rung’s rights. The former Enforcer would pinion Rung’s slender wrists in his larger hands, easily manipulating them into a pair of heavy stasis cuffs._ _

__The crew would watch as he was herded down the halls toward the brig, his shame on display for all of them. They’d confided in him their darkest secrets, had trusted him to help them through their toughest cycles. He could almost feel their stares, their angry fields as he passed, trying to keep his helm low._ _

__Across the desk from him, Froid was still studying him. The other mech couldn’t smile, but somehow Rung knew that he was. The orange mech resisted the urge to pinch his nasal bridge. One of his processor aches was beginning already._ _

__With the specter of his rival and former amica watching, Rung reached into a drawer on the left side of his desk. Somehow he managed to keep his fingers from trembling as he wrapped them around the pill bottle and pulled it from the back of the drawer._ _

__“Oh, so you’re a druggy now too? Just like the patients you counsel. I’m impressed with you, Jung. How have they not found you out yet?”_ _

__“Rung. This is prescription-“_ _

__“From how long ago? Does Ratchet know about them?”_ _

__“There is no reason for him to-“_ _

__“That’s what I thought.” The smile was evident in the other psychiatrist’s voice. “They have no idea who you are. Or what you are. Shall we explore that as well?”_ _

__Rung blinked tiredly behind his glasses. He really didn’t have the extra energy to deal with it tonight. His helm hurt, his tanks were sour… and his hab would be empty when he got back._ _

__It hadn’t been empty once. One time, he’d had someone to go home to…_ _

__Maybe he should call Nautica. Or Nightbeat. No, he couldn’t drag them into this, they’d suffered enough already-_ _

__The little orange mech lifted tired optics to the apparition in the corner of his office. “If you must, then I shan’t stop you.”_ _

__As Froid launched into a long recount of the history of Rung’s experiences at the hands of the Functionists, Rung resisted the urge to slump forward onto his desk. There was nothing for it but to wait until his old rival ran out of steam. Perhaps by then, he could talk himself into going back to his hab. His quiet, too large hab-_ _

__Rung folded his arms on his desk as Froid’s voice faded into static in the background. The other mech always did fade away eventually. After all, he wasn’t really there. But it was never before the damage had been done. The old wounds had been reopened._ _

__It was going to be a long nightcycle._ _


	2. Chapter 2

When morning finally came, it found a sleepless Rung in his berth. The alarm sounded, but his optics were already open, waiting for the sound. He watched his HUD flash brightly for several kliks before turning it off. 

He had three appointments this cycle. 

The first would be Rodimus. The prime, although he was enjoying the company of his new conjunx endura, Ultra Magnus, was still struggling with the tortures that he’d endured at the hands of Megatron. Though he insisted that he didn’t need Rung “digging around in his processor,” Ratchet, Drift and Ultra Magnus had all talked him into going. Rung was all too familiar with the affects of past abuse and was more than happy to help the young captain work through it.

After Rodimus came Cyclonus. There wasn’t much talking when the stoic mech arrived in Rung’s office and he only came because Tailgate insisted. Though Cyclonus likely was in need of counselling, Rung selfishly used the time to rest and recollect. The ex-Decepeticon didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he might have even seemed grateful for the psychiatrist’s lack of trying. Once, Cyclonus had even offered to leave and claim that he’d stayed for the full session. Of course Rung had refused and they’d sat in silence for the rest of the session, one staring into space and the other wiping distractedly at his glasses.

The third and final appointment of the cycle would prove to be the most difficult. 

Session cycles rotated so that Rung had the same three appointments every cycle. Tomorrow, it would be Red Alert, First Aid and Trailcutter. If it hadn’t been for his final appointment this cycle, Rung would’ve considered it his easy cycle when compared to tomorrow’s schedule…

…But Whirl never made anything easy.

The helicopter had a way of testing Rung at every turn, always proving to be difficult. Ultra Magnus had seemingly used every threat in the book to get Whirl to cooperate, but Rung couldn’t seem to get the mech to sit long enough to answer the prompts. 

The psychiatrist sighed and forced himself to his peds, already preparing himself for the cycle ahead. He would have to meet Rodimus soon, before the captain took the morning shift on the bridge. 

 

~o0o~

 

Rung lived a door down from his office. He’d had the option of having a hab with a connecting door, but had ultimately refused it, claiming that he wanted to separate his work from his personal life. At the time, he’d thought he would need the forced separation. He loved his work, or at least he had at one time. 

It didn’t matter anymore now.

He sat heavily behind his desk and folded his hands before himself. There was a healthy stack of datapads that needed to be reviewed on the corner of his desk. Perhaps he could work on those before Rodimus arrived. After all, he’d skipped his morning fuel. He may as well do something with the extra time.

The psychiatrist had struggled through about half of Ratchet’s hastily scrawled notes before a knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”

A klik later, Rodimus was peeking into the office, his mouth upturned in a cocky smile. “Hey, uh…Ring! What’s up?”

Not bothering to correct the other mech, Rung put on his most convincing smile and motioned his captain further into the office. “It’s good to see you, Rodimus. And you’re on time, too.”

“Yeah, actually…” Rodimus closed the door behind himself, taking an unusually large amount of care not to slam it shut on his way in. He moved to settle himself in the reclining chair as Rung came out from behind his desk. “I was thinking about what you said… about making myself better for me and for no one else?”

“Oh?”

The young prime nodded, his smile more sincere than the over-confident smirk that he’d worn coming through the door. “I think it’s working. I’ve been really trying to focus more? Like, with the reports and showing up to the bridge on time.”

Rung smiled in the serene way that he knew calmed his patients down. He nodded quickly and plucked a datapad from his desk to take notes. “And how do you feel that you are doing? Do you feel more confident, more at ease?”

“Yeah. It’s like I’m not as worried about what Mags will think, or, um… what Megatron would do if I messed up.”

Subconsciously, Rung lifted a hand to trace the scars around his own throat. He was reminded abruptly that this was the first session he’d held with Rodimus since Megatron’s escape from stasis in the cargo hold. 

Rung didn’t remember much except for the feeling of the bigger mech’s hand around his throat cables. He still had the faint memory of being strangled, of feeling his cables crushed in the warlord’s fist. Though he could hear Drift’s body hitting the wall and the sound of his model ships crashing to the floor, Rung’s memory predominately consisted of the sensation as his energon supply was slowly cut off from his processor. The last thing he’d felt was the crack of his neck under the pressure.

Rung shook off the chill that had settled over his plating. His vocalizer was surprisingly steady as he spoke. “He cannot harm you anymore, Rodimus. He’s gone.”  
“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I freeze up though. When I’m with Magnus.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“He’s… a lot bigger than me. Sometimes when I close my optics- or if I feel him behind me-” The young prime took a deep vent, his fingers twisting each other as he steadied himself. “I know he’s not Megatron. I know he isn’t. But sometimes I shut down when we’re doing stuff and I can’t keep from it. He’s so patient with me…”

Rung watched as Rodimus squinted up at the ceiling, his jaw working furiously. It was hard to sit back and watch the flame-colored mech struggle, but this was part of the process. Some things had to break before they could finally heal. “Rodimus, do you love Ultra Magnus?”

“Yes! Of course I do. I love him a lot.”

“You must understand that the way you feel for him is the same way that he feels for you. He may not understand fully what you survived at Megatron’s hands. But he loves you so he will stand by your side through it all.”

The memory struck Rung without warning.

_The other mech was looking down at him, his fingers gently tweaking Rung’s antennae. The little psychiatrist couldn’t hold back a shiver and he playfully swatted at his tormentor. A giggle escaped from his mouth and Rung couldn’t remember ever making such a contented, happy sound.  
Then, the bigger mech bent down, pressing his mouth against Rung’s. He remembered closing his optics. Looking back now, he wished that he’d kept them open, just so that he could see him one more time- ___

__“Uh… you good?”_ _

__Rung allowed the memory to fade away and smiled at the captain. “Of course, Rodimus. I’m afraid I didn’t recharge well. Anyway, do you understand what I meant? That Magnus won’t give up on you? Love never fades, no matter how difficult things become.”_ _

__Rodimus grinned, seeming forget about the orange mech’s lapse. “Thanks, Rong. I mean it.”_ _

__With his processor spinning and his spark aching for a mech lost long ago, the psychiatrist nodded and smiled._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving for family vacay in Florida tomorrow and likely won't update for at least a week. Until then! :)


	3. Chapter 3

As per usual, Cyclonus arrived on the dot, not a klik before or after. Rung watched the purple seeker as he entered the office, his peds silent on the floor as he advanced. When the psychiatrist had first met the other mech, Cyclonus had sniffed at him and turned his helm away, refusing to acknowledge Rung’s presence. To the smaller orange mech, the treatment had come as no surprise.

Now, at least, the ex-Decepticon gave him a single nod before settling himself on the reclining chair’s edge. He never laid back on it, instead sitting upright and facing Rung head on every time. Just like he always did, Cyclonus folded his hands and stared straight ahead at a fixed point just over the psychiatrist’s shoulder.

Rung didn’t even try to engage him this cycle. He slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees, unafraid of what Cyclonus thought of his slouched seat. As he expected, the red-opticed mech didn’t even look at him, keeping his gaze on the wall behind the desk.

 

~o0o~

 

Rung didn’t look up from the floor as the purple mech stood and left. Right on the dot, just like always. Instead of resting like he was usually able to in Cyclonus’ presence, Rung felt even more drained than usual. The door clicked closed behind the retreating horned figure and the psychiatrist flinched at the implication.

Whirl would be there soon.

It wasn’t that the other mech was bad. It was that he did it on purpose. Whirl was notorious for testing Rung’s resolve, constantly pushing his limits. When one calculated in his lack of recharge and his lack if refueling regularly, Rung was far beyond being able to handle whatever shenanigans Whirl would try out on him during this cycle’s session.

Rung stood, wobbling slightly, and made his way back around his desk. He couldn’t control the quake in his fingers as he opened the lowest right side drawer and fished around for the bottle within. Hurrying so that maybe they’d have time to take effect before Whirl appeared, Rung dumped three of the pills into his palm. His processor had begun to ache terribly upon Cyclonus’ departure.

Ratchet said he’d likely never be free of the helmaches. They came off and on depending on how much stress he was under. They’d begun to get severe enough that the pills didn’t work anymore to dull the pain.

The medics had offered to take a look, to try and see if anything could be done to ease them at all. But Rung couldn’t bring himself to let anyone touch him while he was unconscious. Even though he trusted Ratchet completely, the scars ran deep. The psychiatrist would rather deal with the persistent helmaches than have anyone tampering with his processor ever again.

The Functionists had done enough of that as it was. 

Rung swallowed the pills dry and felt them catch at the base of his neck. It took him a few more gulps before the stuck capsules slipped free and fell into his fuel tank. 

He flinched as his office door was slammed open.

“What’s got under your plating today?”

The psychiatrist gathered himself just enough to give Whirl a pleasant smile. “Hello, Whirl. Please sit. How are you-“

“Oh, please. It’s wonderful. Just glorious. I have no hands, but at least Stormy’s been workin’ on a new gun just for me… Oy! You didn’t answer my question though!”

“This is not about me. Today, I’d like to talk with you about-“

But the copter was already on his peds again, rapidly pacing the room. “Yeah, no. How about we talk about you, Doc? We never talk about you. And don’t try and tell me that you don’t have some slag behind you-“

Rung grimaced. It was like this every time that Whirl came in for a session. The ex-Wrecker always insisted on turning the conversation on the glasses-sporting mech, never one to talk about his own past traumas at the hands of the Senate. So far, Rung hadn’t told him anything about himself and had succeeded in leading the conversation in circles that led back to Whirl himself.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, eyebrows? Yer quieter than usual this cycle. Not really tryin’.”

Before he could think of anything to say, Rung left himself again falling back into the past.

_Lips, shielding sharp denta, leaned in to hiss in his audial. Spittle landed on the side of Rung’s face. “Ornament, ha. You’re lucky they’d bother to even give you a use.”_

_An unseen hand twisted the driver even tighter. Rung choked on his next ventilation, darkness closing in on his optics. Maybe this would be the time he would pass out. He’d prayed to Primus many times that he’d just pass out while they tested him and experimented on him. But never had he once fallen into the sweet release of oblivion._

_“It’s not final yet. Until it is, you’ll wear this. Can’t have you causing panic with the populace-“_

_“B-But- they haven’t said-“_

_Something dug deep into Rung’s spinal strut and he felt his body jerk as an electric current passed through him. In his helm, his denta clacked together until the prod was eventually pulled away._

_“I’m sorry. Did you have something to say, ‘ornament’?”_

_“Hey!” A second voice came from nearby, concern lacing the newly arrived field. “We aren’t supposed to injure him! He’s been through enough-“_

_Rung tilted his helm toward the new presence, temporarily blinded by the force of charge from the prod… ___

__A single yellow optic hovered directly before Rung’s face. The orange mech skittered backwards with a yelp, startled by the sudden closeness. He nearly fell out of his chair._ _

__“There’s somethin’ up with you. Think I’m gonna head out early. That cool?”_ _

__Without waiting for a response, Whirl turned and sauntered out of the room. Instead of slamming the door like he usually did though, the empurata survivor left it opened a crack, allowing the light from the hallway to filter in and across the office’s floor._ _


	4. Chapter 4

_He’d never interfaced for love before._

_As he lay beneath his bigger partner, Rung felt overwhelmed. The way the other mech’s field pulsed with lust and desire, the way that his own valve lubricated voluntarily… He’d never actually lubricated before the act in the past. It had always been a side-effect, a result of Rung’s body betraying him._

_Rung vented slowly as his lover kissed his throat. He tried to focus on how good it felt and remembered that the hands wandering across his plating meant him no ill will. This was consensual. If he wanted to stop, all he to do was say so. His lover wouldn’t force him like the Functionists had._

_“Easy, sweetspark. We don’t have to do this tonight.”_

_“I know… but I want to. With you.”_

_A warm smile greeted Rung’s statement and something in the little orange mech’s spark twisted._

_His lover’s lips were light when he dipped to kiss Rung and their glossae met in a wet slide, slick with lubricant as they danced. Between them, the bigger mech’s spike drooled prefluid across Rung’s slender belly._

_“Are you ready?”_

_Rung felt himself nod, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready for the step he was about to take._

_Being a psychiatrist, he was used to being strong for his patients. He’d become very good at hiding his trauma behind the glasses he wore. But with this mech, Rung had no reason to hide what the Senate had done to him. Though Rung was ashamed that he’d lost his seals in such an impure way, this mech hadn’t judged him for it. Instead, he’d been patient and kind and loving._

_The mech should’ve been Rung’s first time._

_“Can you look at me? I want to see your face.” The request immediately made Rung blush and wish that he hadn’t asked._

_Another blinding smile came from the mech whose arms boxed Rung in. The orange mech felt his throat close with the love he felt as his lover placed a gentle kiss to his nasal bridge. “Only on one condition…”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“These have to come off.”_

_Rung felt the larger mech tap a careful finger on the rim of his glasses. He’d never taken them off for his lover, nor had he since the Senate long ago released him as an ‘ornament.’_

_“You don’t have to, Rung. I just… I kinda wanted to see your optics.”_

_Unable to deny such an innocent request, Rung pulled the lenses from his face and set them on the nightstand beside the berth. “I’m afraid they aren’t anything unusual. Just optics.”_

_But when Rung looked up into his lover’s face, he found the other mech staring down at him. His mouth was agape and for a klik the orange mech feared that the other mech had somehow malfunctioned. “Uhm… are you okay? I didn’t mean to-“ Rung scrambled briefly for his glasses. “If you’ll give me a moment-“_

_“No!” A much larger hand took Rung’s grappling one into a gentle hold. “No, no. Please. Don’t put them back on.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_The other mech blinked and swallowed, a heavy blush settling over his cheeks. “You are beautiful, Rung. Please don’t hide yourself from me.”_

_The sentiment nearly caused Rung’s spark to stop turning. Unable to speak, the doctor reached up and pulled his lover down until he could place a firm kiss on the other’s mouth. The mech above chuckled softly around the kiss before Rung’s fingertips began playing with the seams of his spinal strut. His amused laugh became a moan and the kiss quickly evolved into something less playful and more heated._

_More prefluid glopped onto Rung’s abdomen and he felt his own valve clench down on nothing, aching to be filled. Pulling back slightly, the psychiatrist forced the other mech to make optic contact with him as he reached down between them._

_With tentative fingers, Rung took his partner’s thick spike into his grip and guided the tip toward his opening. Despite his nervousness, the smaller mech could feel his own lubricants dribbling down his aft, soaking the covers beneath them. He’d never been the one to initiate interface. It had always been taken from him._

_When his lover finally breached his valve, Rung tilted his helm back with a gasp. He could taste the desperation in the other mech’s field, could feel the aborted jerks of his hips. “Oh, R-Rung- so good- p-please, babe-“_

_In answer, the smaller mech spread his legs wider, welcoming the other mech in. Careful of moving too quickly and injuring his partner, Rung’s lover eased further into the smaller mech’s tight valve, rolling his hips in shallow thrusts. Upon bottoming out completely, he paused, venting shallowly as his spike was hugged in liquid heat._

_Rung’s lover gazed down at him, his optic’s nearly white with emotion. “I- Rung, I-“_

_Feeling dizzy, Rung blinked up at his partner, his field filled with blatant adoration. He felt his mouth form a crooked grin and reached up to rest a palm against the bigger mech’s jaw. “Y-Yes?”_

_Rung felt his smaller body gathered up into a pair of strong arms. A feverish kiss was pressed to his exposed throat. Those sensations, combined with the spike buried deep in his oversensitive valve, nearly sent Rung over the edge prematurely. He barely held off his overload, decidedly more interested in what his berthmate was trying to say._

_“Primus, Rung, I love you. I love you so much.”_

_They moved together, each whispering sweet nothings into the other’s audial as pleasure built between them. Rung was completely consumed by his lover’s field, wrapped in the safety of the other mech’s strong arms as they joined for the first time. Despite what Rung thought he’d known about interfacing, this felt closer to a holy act than what he’d suffered in the past._

_When his lover thrust deep and held at last, the little psychiatrist felt himself also tumble over the edge. Liquid heat burst inside his valve, a familiar feeling, but with a different reaction than he’d ever had before. Instead of fighting away, Rung sighed as he was completely and utterly filled._

_He felt his valve rings squeezing the other mech’s spike, drawing out his lover’s overload. It only took two more swivels of his larger partner’s hips before the tension began to fade from his shuddering frame._

_Ever aware of his lover’s smaller size, the mech pulled out slowly and settled beside his orange partner. He pulled Rung tightly against himself, nuzzling against the psychiatrist’s neck. ___

__They’d lain like that for a long time, just listening to the other vent as their plating cooled. Rung remembered the feeling of his gestation tank, heavy with the other mech’s transfluid as they fell into recharge tangled together. He remembered wishing that they’d merged, they they’d bonded that night._ _

__They couldn’t have known then that their first time together would be their last night in each other’s arms._ _

__The next cycle, their relationship had been discovered._ _

__Three cycles after that, the tribunal had disbarred Rung and banned him from practicing for the rest of his lifecycle._ _

__Four cycles after that, a week after sharing that perfect night with the only mech Rung had ever truly loved, the Fateful Archetype was shot down. All aboard the ship perished, including Rung’s lover.__

__

__

____He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye or to apologize for all the sparkache he’d caused the other mech. No, fate had deigned that Rung was to be the only survivor of the incident. He was alone with his dead lover’s name and the tribunal’s decision._ _ _ _

____Curling up more tightly in his too-large berth, Rung swallowed the tears back. His throat ached and his glossa tasted bitter, likely due to the high grade and unspoken words._ _ _ _

____He hadn’t said that he loved the other mech back that night. Why hadn’t he? He had loved him, right? Or was he just desperate to cover up the old injuries? How messed up did one have to be in order for him to not know of he’d loved someone or not? He was a psychiatrist for Primus’ sake. Wasn’t it his job to figure things like this out?_ _ _ _

____He hugged himself even more tightly, trying to imagine that he was still cradled in the other mech’s arms. He’d been safe there, if only for a little while. Rung denied himself the sob that welled in his vents and he gulped it down instead. He realized that the bitter taste in his mouth was from unshed tears._ _ _ _

____Rung wished not for the first time that he’d died with the rest of them when _Fateful Archetype_ fell from the sky.___ _


	5. Chapter 5

Rung curled up even more tightly in his berth, listening to the _Lost Light _creaking around him. It was late in the night cycle, but recharge eluded him. Over time, it had become more difficult for him to rest peacefully.__

__The past haunted him. If the memories of his past lover and the tortures of the senate didn’t keep him up, the pain certainly did. Rung was plagued with helmaches, a remnant of the horrors he’d survived at the hands of the Functionalists. He couldn’t remember when they’d started really. Only that they’d begun somewhere amidst the various tests and endless number of times that they’d broken him._ _

__Rung had only ever visited Ratchet about the helmaches once. The old medic had been patient and kind, two things that Ratchet normally was not. The little psychiatrist hadn’t even told his friend about the origin of the helmaches. The experienced battle medic seemed to already know._ _

__Swallowing hard and squinting at the ceiling above, Rung clenched his hands even more tightly together. A sheen of coolant had gathered on his plating and had begun to soak the covers around him. If he stayed still, the pain was more bearable. But staying one place caused heat to build up in the berth. The orange mech risked moving his peds, only enough to kick away the thin blanket._ _

__Even though the release of heat from against his frame was a relief, the movement sent a spike of agony shooting up and down his back. The pain ricocheted around in Rung’s processor, drawing a moan from the weakened mech before it finally settled at the juncture of his helm and neck. Blinking and trying to stabilize his vents, Rung could only pray that is other chronic pains didn’t start up as well._ _

__The Functionalists had torn him apart in their attempts to find a use for him. They’d modified and rewritten and covered over so much of him that Rung had been forced to recreate himself long ago. Beyond the damage that such torments had subjected his processor to, the slender bot’s frame continued to suffer from discomfort of many kinds. Though Ratchet and the other medics knew about Rung’s debilitating migraines, they knew nothing about the other horrors faced by the diminutive mech every cycle._ _

__At times, his spinal strut became unusable, rendering Rung helpless to do anything by lie limply in his berth. He knew that those biting, sharp, stabbing pains were due to the tires being attached to his back, so long ago when the council had first tried to modify him. The weight of the wheels they’d attached drug on his struts, compressing the delicate and irreplaceable vertebrae in Rung’s spine. Some cycles, the psychiatrist wasn’t able to fuel for his inability to sit upright with the pain._ _

__On other cycles, Rung found his hands aching. Even the tiny joints of his digits weren’t spared the rigors of the senate’s determination to find him an alt mode. They’d gone as far as changing his hands out for new ones on more than on occasion, trying to find him a function that he could perform in his root mode. One such time, they’d surgically attached to him a set of medic’s hands. The experience had left Rung’s sensors with significant scarring, severe enough that it had reduced his current feeling to nearly zero in his hands. That is, except for the dull ache that often made his fingers too painful to bend._ _

__Those were just the most prevalent of his maladies. His optics glitched sometimes, causing sparks to dance across his vision and under his facial plates. On particularly trying cycles, Rung found himself barely able to fuel for the terminal sour afflicting his tanks. Once or twice he’d felt his spark skip a turn, causing him to clutch his chest plates during sessions with patients._ _

__Those maladies alone should’ve been enough to drive Rung mad. But despite what he faced, he steadfastly insisted on guiding his patients to the best of his ability._ _

__As he lay in his berth, hands folded and numb, Rung blinked exhaustedly at the ceiling and waited for the pills that he’d taken to filter through his systems. He’d upped the dosage to four tablets before heading to his berth for the evening. Despite that, the memories brought the knives to forefront, even if Rung’s pills had managed to dull them somewhat._ _

__Briefly, he considered calling Ratchet. Being alone certainly didn’t help assuage the effect that the memories had on his systems. Really, Rung would’ve been relieved with the presence of anyone during the long night cycles. But Skids was gone, the only mech who Rung had ever considered allowing in after the tragedy that had befallen his deceased lover._ _

__Shifting a little and tasting old energon on his glossa, Rung ultimately decided not to call anyone at all. He always decided not to call on nights like these. What could they do? It wasn’t like anyone had made the Functionalists stop. No one could stop their specter’s from tearing him apart nightcycle after nightcycle. The crew couldn’t stop the faceless mechs who visited him behind his optical lids as the Senate’s henchmen dismembering him piece by piece, taking away everything that made him… whoever he’d been._ _

__He couldn’t remember who he’d been before._ _

__The Functionalists had asked for his alt as much as they’d tried to find it themselves. There wasn’t a single thing that Rung hadn’t been forced to survive at their hands. He’d been violated in every way and under every circumstance imaginable-_ _

__They’d taken him so suddenly. His friends had thought he was executed; he’d had no chance to warn them of his arrest. Rung had been dead to them for… hundreds of years? Thousands? He didn’t know how long, but Rung did know that no one had searched for him. Why would they have?_ _

__Perhaps they had known what had happened. If they had, Rung still couldn’t have blamed them for not trying to find him. After what the Functionalists had done to him, he understood how little his worth equated to. There wasn’t a part of him that had been left untouched, undamaged-_ _

__Rung rolled onto his side, glad to feel his spinal strut protest the motion. It was a good distraction from his rampant-running thought processes. Carefully, he twisted feeling back into his creaking fingers._ _

__Somewhere out in the hall, two laughing voices passed by. The owners of both voices were drunk and lilting, the words indiscernible through the ship’s wall. He waited for them to move on before venting again._ _

__Rung had once been glad for the thickness of the walls. They’d hidden his ragged cries in the night, helping to keep the secret of his suffering from those in the brightness of the hallway outside. But now, he would’ve given anything for someone to know, for someone to come in and save him the eternity of night that had seemed to settle over his life._ _

__But there was no way to do that. After all, who would the psychiatrist talk to for help?_ _


	6. Chapter 6

Though Rung wouldn’t have thought it possible, Red Alert was more paranoid and nervous than usual. 

The mech barely sat down for more than two kliks at a time throughout the entirety of the session. His optics were wild as he told Rung about the things he’d seen and noticed, how his observations pointed to several different plots by the mechs and femmes around him. To say the least, the ordeal left Rung severely drained.

Ever since the incident with the sparkeater, Red Alert’s old paranoia had been on a constant incline. His run-ins with Swerve’s pranks hadn’t helped his recovery in the least. The poor mech was wound more tightly than any timing belt that Rung had ever seen and wasn’t showing any signs of calming down soon.

As the door finally closed behind the still-ranting security director, Rung had to force his optics to stay lit behind his glasses. He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to gather himself and stumbled slowly back to his chair. Red Alert was one of his oldest patients. How could so much work be undone by one incident? Millions of years’ worth of counseling and rapport building…

Rung swallowed thickly and grimaced. His mouth still tasted bitter, like the pills he took far too often those cycles. A twinge still persisted in his right hand and two segments of his lower spinal strut were pinching. Venting softly, the weary psychiatrist swatted half-heartedly at the drawer that held the pill bottle he sought. He knew that he couldn’t take any more, at least not for some time yet. Taking another pill too soon would do far more harm to him than good-

But maybe he could get away with taking one. Or two. Would three get rid of the aches, the pains? What about the memories? How many pills would it take to get rid of those? What if-

“Doctor?”

The orange mech jumped at the voice, suddenly aware of the pill bottle clenched in his left hand. In a fit of panic, Rung dropped it in his rush to hide back the drawer. He barely heard the clatter as the bottle thudded to the floor.

Across the desk, First Aid was watching him. Rung hadn’t even heard the medic enter his office; he hadn’t even noticed when the new CMO sat down directly in front of him.

As Rung fumbled around on the floor under his desk, he felt the other mech’s gaze studying him carefully. The startled mech released a weak laugh as the bottle finally materialized under his numb fingertips. “Ah, First Aid! You surprised me! Early for your session, I see?”

“Yes. Early.” First Aid continued to watch him as Rung slipped the bottle of pills into the drawer and closed it quickly. “Rung, are you ill?”

“No! I mean… no, no I’m not. Not really. Why do you ask?”

First Aid’s visor dimmed like he was staring straight into Rung’s very spark. “Did Ratchet give you those?”

The psychiatrist tried to calm his racing processor. Ratchet had given him the medication, yes. So why did he feel like he needed to hide it?

“Wrung?”

“Yes. Ratchet prescribed them to me some time ago.”

The red and white mech considered Rung for a few kliks more before he spoke again. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are they for? I don’t remember seeing them on your file when I took over as CMO.”

Being the center of someone’s attention wasn’t something that Rung was used to. Usually he was the one pulling answers out of others. He was the mech that lifted them up when their traumas robbed them of sleep and the ability to refuel. 

The orange mech choked and ended up coughing out another pathetic excuse for laughter. “I asked that it remain off record. Between professionals. They’re for the helmaches…”

“’Helmaches’?” 

“Yes.”

First Aid gave him another sideways look, clearly considering whether or not he should pursue the subject. In the end, the mech simply nodded and accepted, likely, that Rung’s medical history was Ratchet’s concern and none of his business. “I see.”

Rung shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. The pressure within his spinal strut had increased after his sudden movement trying to catch the pill bottle. “So, First Aid. How are you this cycle?”

The session went smoothly, far more smoothly than Red Alert’s had gone. Primarily, they sifted through the traumas that First Aid had experienced at the hands of Pharma. The young medic was still processing the death of his intended along with the horrors he’d experienced at the Delphi facility. Ambulon’s end had been violent and First Aid had unfortunately been forced to see it unfold. To be a survivors of such a thing, combined with the experiences and the close calls with the DJD, had left understandably deep wounds in First Aid’s processor.

Though his mental distress was to be expected, First Aid had handled things well, considering. He had made notable progress as far as regaining what he’d lost to the deranged medic. 

As Rung spoke to the medic, he wondered how it was that some recovered more quickly than others. Was it programming? A difference between M.T.O’s and those who were forged? Could the root be found in cold construction? Of all the essays that Rung had read, none of his contemporaries seemed to be sure. Recovery from trauma appeared to be something that each spark handled differently.

One of the psychiatrist’s wrist’s twitched, likely a wire being pinched between misaligned gears. If it weren’t for the scarring… perhaps he would be able to move on just as easily.

“Ummm… Ring?”

Rung licked his lips upon finding his mouth suddenly dry. When he looked up, he found First Aid staring at his hands. Subconsciously, Rung had taken his left wrist into his right hand and was furiously rubbing at the painful area. Immediately, he stopped and dropped his own hand. “I-I apologize. I was distracted for a moment. Please continue, First Aid.”

“I didn’t say anything. I haven’t for a while now.”

Rung pressed his lips into a thin line and forced himself to be still. Before he could find anything to say, the medic was already speaking again. “I think it would be best if you stopped by the medbay later on. When did Ratchet prescribe that bottle to you?”

Though his words were gruff and brooked no argument, First Aid’s field was soft with genuine concern. Rung closed his optics momentarily, trying to process that the emotion was directed at him. Someone was concerned about him…

But then First Aid’s words registered. _Ratchet _. If the senior medic figured out just how much strain Rung’s frame was under… What if he was found to be unable to practice? Then what? What was he good for besides helping others handle their mental and emotional welfare?__

__The Functionists were right. He had no helpful alt mode, after all. If Ratchet found him unable to continue counseling-_ _

__A hand rested gently on his shoulder and Rung recognized abruptly that he had begun to tremble. First Aid’s visor was over-bright and right in front of him, likely running surface-grade diagnostics. “Doctor, I think it would be best if you went on to the medbay. I’ve paged Ratchet and he’s expecting you there.”_ _

__“There’s nothing wrong. I just… I didn’t recharge well last cycle.”_ _

__“Then he will likely give you something to help you rest more easily. Either way, you will see him. I’ve never seen you like this and you won’t be helping anyone until you get help yourself.”_ _

__First Aid’s meaning should’ve been clear, but Rung only heard part of what he said._ _

___You won’t be helping anyone _.__ _ _

____Primus, he was going to be barred from practice all over again. They’d find out about his injuries, his scarring both physical and emotional. They’d find out about his abuse of the pills and the nightmares that kept him from recharging and refueling._ _ _ _

____“I’ll go shortly. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more useful this cycle, First Aid.”_ _ _ _

____The medic stood and looked down at him. Part of his visor was dimmed, giving Rung that impression that he was squinting at him. “You’re plenty useful, uh- Ring. I just want you checked over. No big deal.”_ _ _ _

____“But Trailcutter…”_ _ _ _

____“-Is still in the brig. Magnus is holding him for a while after the stunt he pulled at Swerve’s lastcycle. After seeing the mess he was in this morning, I expect that he’ll be resting for the rest of this cycle. As for you, Ratchet is expecting you in the medbay.”_ _ _ _


	7. Chapter 7

Ratchet sighed heavily through his vents and checked his HUD for the third time. Barely any time had passed at all since First Aid had paged him. Annoyed with himself, the aged medic rolled his optics and made his way back across the medbay to his office.

Despite no longer being the CMO, Ratchet and First Aid had agreed that he could keep his office. The space was still connected to Ratchet’s private habsuite and was cluttered to the point of being unusable. It was no surprise that the new CMO had taken one look at the barely organized chaos and had agreed to leave the mess to Ratchet.

Seating himself to keep from pacing, the ambulance piddled with one of the datapad stacks that weighed down his desk. What could be wrong with Rung? He hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his friend, nor had the smaller mech come to the medbay with any issues. Faintly, Ratchet remembered that he’d given the psychiatrist medication for persistent helmaches, but rather than that? Nothing stood out concerning Rung’s health that would be cause for concern. His boarding physical had been hurried, true, due to Rung having lost an arm… and then being strangled by Whirl…

Ratchet grimaced to himself and turned on one of the datapads. Though he’d kept Rung’s helmaches off record, Ratchet had been careful to document the other mech’s injuries since he’d come aboard the Lost Light. 

For being a non-combatant, Rung had suffered some of the most severe injuries that Ratchet had ever seen. Even having been the Chief Medical Officer of the Autobot forces during the war, Ratchet had seen the psychiatrist survive injuries that had easily killed larger, more hardy mechs. Rung had had his entire brain module destroyed, only to come back much the same as he’d been before. 

As Ratchet carefully reviewed Rung’s medical history since the mech had boarded, he considered the possibility that the orange mech might be having trouble with the injuries that he’d sustained. Or, perhaps their own psychiatrist was experiencing PTSD after so much trauma had been done to his slight frame. Though he’d survived impossible odds, there was a chance that he was having trouble processing all the punishment that his body had taken since coming aboard…

 

~o0o~

 

Rung left his office and forced his peds to move him in the direction of the medbay. Behind himself, he could feel First Aid watching, likely making sure that he was on his way to see Ratchet. Upon rounding the first corner, the diminutive bot stopped walking and leaned against the wall, trying to calm his pounding spark.

Deep inside, he knew that he wasn’t in trouble. He knew that the pain he was feeling wasn’t his fault. After all, he’d told a thousand mechs and femmes that the traumas they suffered weren’t their faults. Rung had guided them through the process of self-forgiveness. He had saved them from the self-harm that they used to escape the horrors that they’d faced. But for some reason, no matter how much he tried to use the same tactics on himself, Rung couldn’t quite grasp the concept that what he’d been through wasn’t in any way somehow his own burden.

Trying not to drag his peds, Rung made his way down the length of the hall and hung a left. The good thing about being the ship’s therapist was that his office was close to the medbay. He was able to prescribe dampeners and stimulants to patients and they could pick them up from Ratchet or First Aid or one of the other medics mere kliks later.

But this cycle, all he wanted to do was be alone. He didn’t want to visit the medbay and have his friend discovering all the scars and malfunctioning parts that past physicals had missed. What would that do to Ratchet? Rung knew how the experienced medic would take it. Ratchet would feel like he’d failed to do his job if he found out about all the things he’d missed.

No one else should suffer because of Rung’s past, especially a mech from his limited friend group.

It wasn’t long before the doors of the medbay materialized before him and Rung found that he hadn’t been able to collect himself at all during the short walk. He sighed heavily and reached forward to trigger the door open-

And he stopped.

Stepping through those doors would mean telling Ratchet the truth of what he’d been going through. It would lead to dredging up and admitting his past traumas and subsequently being deemed unfit to council others. Going in the medbay would mean losing his purpose. If he lost that, then Rung would have nothing left to give, nothing that made him valuable. If that happened…

The implication startled Rung so badly that he yanked his hand away from the medbay door. He needed time to think, time to come to terms with things. If he was going to lose his job a second time, then it would be on his own terms and in his own time.

 

~o0o~

 

When Rung didn’t show up, Ratchet assumed that the ship’s sole therapist had gotten caught up somehow. It was likely, he reasoned, that the therapist had elected to go on down to the brig to speak with Trailcutter. The thought drew a fond smile to Ratchet’s usually stern face. 

Rung was dedicated to his patients. He’d probably decided to schedule an appointment with Ratchet instead of simply showing up at the medbay. Ratchet, a mech always up to his audials in work, could appreciate that. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a full list of things that needed done in the meantime.

Besides, Rung was a medical professional. He knew himself better than First Aid. If something were truly wrong, then he would come in. The same couldn’t be said for a mech like Rodimus, of course, who tended to just let things get worse... but this was Rung. Rung could handle himself and Ratchet was confident that he would come by if it was something serious.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Description of a past sexual assault and self-harm.

Rung curled up more tightly in his berth, clutching his left hand to his chest. His finger’s throbbed, drawing lines of agony up his forearm all the way to his shoulder joint. It felt like a hyper extension, but the psychiatrist knew better. He’d had the pain ever since the Functionalists had tested out medic’s hands on him…

_”Do you like that ‘ornament’? Perhaps we found a use for you at last.”_

_Rung swallowed convulsively, his throat dry as a foreign mouth molested his fingers. The new hands that they’d attached to him were heavy, dragging at his wrist cables and causing strain in his shoulders. But even worse than those things was how sensitive they were.  
Behind his panel, Rung felt lubricant building up. He didn’t want this, not like this. They were playing with him for Primus’ sake… _

_He couldn’t see the mech whose mouth suckled on his digits, nor could he move his arm at all. It was strapped down to the table he lay upon, extended out to the left and away from his body. The psychiatrist had been so completely tied that he couldn’t turn his helm to see anything except the plain ceiling above._

_One particularly hard lick between his fingers caused Rung’s hips to buck. The little orange mech squeezed his optics closed, refusing to succumb to the invasive pleasure being forced upon him. Primus, no, please, no, don’t-_

_“A pleasure bot. Maybe that’s what your real use is. You definitely act like one.”_

_The flick of a warm, moist glossa against the new hand’s palm pulled an unwilling moan from Rung’s vocalizer. He was so immersed in the battle between horror and pleasure that he wasn’t fully aware of his panel sliding open- ___

__They’d passed him between themselves that nightcycle, using his over-sensitive hands to keep him compliant. Rung remembered wishing that they’d drugged him that time like they usually did during the assaults. At least the drugs would’ve made the memory blurry and hazy. He would’ve preferred that to the stunning clarity-_ _

__He remembered their faces as they brutalized him. They’d laughed, comparing him to the buymechs that wandered the streets, strung out on drugs and hunger. Rung hadn’t been able to fight back against the onslaught, hadn’t been able to stop his gasps and twitching as they touched him and played with his frame-_ _

__Against his chest, Rung’s left hand felt the phantom sensation of a mouth. He barely had time to vault over the side of his berth before he was purging onto the floor._ _

__When it was over and his frame had collapsed back down into the soft covers, Rung couldn’t gather the energy to get up and clean away the mess. Instead, he lay there staring down at it from his berth, unable to stop himself from twisting the fingers of his left hand. Rung didn’t stop until they creaked under the pressure. Eventually, the new pain began to drown out the memories and he was able to calm himself down once more._ _

__It was then that another field caressed him, one that he would recognize anywhere._ _

__“Hello, babe.”_ _

__Rung, who’d managed to roll back onto his aching spinal strut, turned his helm toward the door._ _

__There he was._ _

__The other mech stepped forward, stars dancing around his peds. A gentle, sad smile curved his lips, just like when Rung had last seen him. “How’ve you been, sweetspark?”_ _

__Unable to speak for the lump in his throat, the weakened mech could only blink and try to clear his helm. His lover had visited him before like this, swathed in light and perfection. He always came when Rung was at his most helpless._ _

__“Feeling sick? I think I know why…”_ _

__The mech approached slowly, his hips swaying and his field welcoming. But Rung wasn’t fooled, no. He felt himself begin to tremble as the specter of his deceased lover drew closer to his berthside. “Please…” he rasped, throat burning from having purged, “please, don’t…”_ _

__“Don’t what, Rung? Leave you? Like you left the rest of us? I burnt, you know. Slowly-“_ _

__“Please-“_ _

__“I was all alone, in the brig. I couldn’t escape. Couldn’t think. I called –“_ _

__Rung tried to cover his audials; he knew what was coming. “No, no, no-“_ _

__But the shimmering mech had no mercy. Rung knew that he wasn’t really there and that he wouldn’t say such things if he was. But it was times like this that his love’s voice was too easy to believe._ _

__“You left me to burn. Why did you leave me to burn, Rung?”_ _

__Rung was a non-combatant. He had no reason to carry a weapon. But ever since his lover had begun to haunt him and his hands had begun to relive the unwanted attention that he’d once received… the little psychiatrist knew how to make them stop. There was only one way to regain control and he knew it was bad; he warned his patients against it all the time. But after millions of years of reliving his memories, of seeing his beloved so tormented and blaming him, had forced Rung to do horrible things._ _

__When Rung pulled a small bladed from one of his endless subspace compartments, his lost lover’s brow furrowed with sadness. “You don’t want me anymore, do you? Do you hate me this much? I wouldn’t have let you do this if I’d lived… but you left me. To die alone in the brig. So I won’t stop you. Do it.”_ _

__Tears streamed from under Rung’s glasses and he tore the circles of glass from his own face in frustration. He was so tired, but he knew that his recharge wouldn’t come until the ghosts were gone. Both the one before him and the ones assaulting his hands, his array and his mouth. He could still taste their fluids-_ _

__Before he could begin purging again, Rung dug the small knife between the pieces of plating in his left wrist. Maybe he would sever the whole hand this time, stop the mouths from ever touching him again… Or maybe he would paint their names on the floor with his spilled energon, so that everyone would know what they’d done to him. He wouldn’t have to hide it anymore or play it off or wear his glasses or-_ _

__A ragged cry broke from his vocalizer as Rung wrenched the blade back out of his wrist. It burnt for a klik or two before he felt the warm rush of energon coating the sensors of his outer plating. Of course he couldn’t cut off his hand. How would he explain that to Ratchet and First Aid?_ _

__Primus._ _

__In all the madness of Swerve and Brainstorm burning themselves, Rung had managed to avoid seeing Ratchet at all. Knowing the ever busy medic, it was likely that the former CMO had forgotten about his meeting with him entirely. Rung had no doubt that he would be summoned to the medbay at a later date when First Aid recalled their botched therapy session. Until then, Rung knew that he’d have to lay low and stay under their radar. His job depended on it._ _

__Feeling like he’d finally accomplished something, the orange mech crawled from his berth and set his peds on the floor. He was pleased to  
see that his lover had been banished and, besides the new injury in his left wrist, the Functionist tormentors had been cast away for the nightcycle as well._ _

__Slowly, and with no small about of stumbling, Rung managed to clean away his purge and the worst of the energon leaking from his wrist. It wasn’t the worst injury that he’d dealt himself when it came to banishing nightmares. As he parted his plates to treat the protoform underneath, he took time to study the hundreds of raised scars that already marred his swollen, irritated components. This one would heal too and join their ranks._ _

__Rung had seen hundreds of patients with similar scars and he knew that his were no different. He’d taught the mechs and femmes he counselled how to cope with their urges, how to find healthy ways of releasing the pain in their processors. The little psychiatrist had helped them understand that hurting themselves wouldn’t erase the hurt that had been done to them._ _

__But all the same, he couldn’t bring himself to stop._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! It's great to be back. Who all is headed to TFcon this weekend? I'll be there and I'd love to meet some of y'all!


	9. Chapter 9

It was unusual for Rodimus to come to the medbay of his own volition. After everything that he’d experienced with Megatron, he wasn’t a mech that wanted to be touched or poked or prodded. More often than not, he would drag Ultra Magnus in tow along behind him. But this cycle, he came alone.

The sight of the ship’s captain openly clutching at his chest plating and not trying to hide his pain was enough to let Ratchet know things were serious. Usually, the prime would hide an injury until someone noticed or it became so bad that he passed out. Or worse.

Ratchet carefully took his captain’s free arm and draped it over his shoulder, aware of how timid Rodimus still was of being touched. “Sharp pains or aches? Pulsing or constant?”

“C-Constant. It’s sharp pains, Ratch.”

When the medic finally guided the other mech to a mediberth and sat him down, Rodimus nearly slumped forward. His optics were glassy as they rolled in his helm. Ratchet quickly went about paging Drift as he lay the red mech back on the berth. “When did this start?”

“This morningcycle. I-It woke me up.” The young prime blinked slowly, like staying conscious was a chore. To see Rodimus so submissive and lethargic reminded the experienced medic briefly of how out of he’d been throughout Megatron’s abuse.

So much had changed since the fiery red mech had nearly died on Ratchet’s table. Once he was installed as the Lost Light’s sole captain again, Rodimus Prime had been able to recover from the worst of his physical injuries. Ultra Magnus had certainly played a role in the red mech’s recovery, rarely leaving his side unless he was needed on the brig or at Swerve’s. 

Now that they were conjunx, Ratchet was even more surprised that Rodimus had managed to ditch the former Enforcer and make it to the medbay on his own. “Where is Magnus?”

The prime looked away at the question and fixed his optics on the ceiling above. “I… I haven’t told him.”

Ratchet didn’t need to ask the prime why he hadn’t told his conjunx about the pain and subsequent medbay visit. After everything he’d been through at Megatron’s hands, Rodimus wasn’t yet comfortable with admitting that he was hurt. It broke the medic’s spark to know that the red mech was embarrassed and scared to receive help when he needed it.

Gently, Ratchet tapped a finger against the other mech’s chest seam. “Mind if I take a look?”

Under his hand, the ambulance watched the other mech’s plating iris open to expose the spark underneath. When the light finally hit his face, Ratchet was forced to squint. Rodimus’ spark always took his breath away with its brightness; after all, it had been blessed by the Matrix.

As the spark itself came into view, Ratchet was reminded of the scarring that would forever mar the outer casing of Rodimus’ spark chamber. Megatron had shot him through the chest during the war, an act that resulted in him becoming a prime in the first place. That alone had damaged the spark casing beyond Ratchet’s healing capabilities. But even more abuse had been dealt upon the fragile casing recently with Megatron’s becoming co-captain and Rodimus’ intended.

“Have you had pain like this since he left?”

The medic watched the younger mech swallow thickly. Rodimus kept his optics on the ceiling, his face void of emotion as he spoke. “No. This is new.”

“I can’t see anything obvious. I’d like to run a scan.”

 

~o0o~

 

The scan came up clean, just as Ratchet suspected it would.

Ever since Rodimus’ near-death experience with Megatron, Ratchet had kept a close optic on the captain’s wellbeing. He checked his spark weekly and ran diagnostics every so often to watch for frame distress. No one understood more clearly than Ratchet how close they’d come to losing Rodimus that cycle when they’d found him and Megatron in the closet.

“Nothing unusual that I can tell. Your sparkspin is slower than I’d like it to be for your frametype, but that’s to be expected after all that you’ve been through. Nothing has changed compared to your last check up.”

Rodimus’ brow creased and he rubbed at his chest seam. Before closing the prime’s chest, Ratchet had offered to apply a temporary dampener into his outer spark casing. Since no true malady could be detected, the medic decided to implant a device that would send Rodimus’ sparkspin stats directly to one of Ratchet’s datapads. Coupled with the dampener, it would help to ease some of the pain that the red mech was in.

“If the pain spikes again, let me know. I’ll be able to pull up your monitor right away and see if there’s a fluctuation.”

“You got it!” Rodimus optics were bright and lively again, the pain having been reduced to a far more manageable level. 

Just as the prime jumped down from the table and made a bid for the door, Ratchet cleared his throat. “Remember-“

“No meteor surfing, no sparring and no interfacing until you figure out what’s going on! I know! Can I go now?”

Rolling his optics and grumbling to himself, the old medic flicked his hand in affirmation. The younger mech whoops obnoxiously and practically pranced out the door. It was amazing what a simple dampener could do.

Despite his relief at seeing Rodimus closer to his normal, irritating self, the medic was still worried about what could’ve caused that much pain to his spark. Ratchet glared down at the datapad in his hand. There didn’t appear to be anything other than the usual with Rodimus’ spark. To cause the kind of pain that he’d been experiencing…

It didn’t make any sense.

“Knock, knock.” Ratchet looked up in time to see his mate peeking into the private room. Drift took a cursory glance around before settling his gaze on the medic. A soft smile formed on the handsome swordsmech’s face. “Hey, Ratch. You said Roddy was here?”

“He was. You just missed him.”

Drift came further into the room, his steps light and soundless against the floor. “It sounded serious. Everything okay?”

“I want you to keep an optic on him, Drift.” 

“What did you find?”

“I didn’t find anything, not anything new anyway. He was in a lot of pain, that much I could tell.” Ratchet sighed heavily as he lifted his gaze from the datapad to look at his mate. 

Worry flickered throughout Drift’s field as he reached out to his mate. “He’s good now, right?”

“I think so. He pretty much skipped out of my medbay.”

“But what could’ve caused something like that to happen?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I need you to watch him. It durprised me enough that he came on his own. I doubt he’ll do it again if it happened a second time.”

“Should you…” The swordsmech’s sentence trailed off and his helm cocked to the side. It was Drift’s trademark movement for when he was receiving a comm.

Ratchet waited while the other mech listened intently, saying nothing and taking the time to wipe down the mediberth. With everything that the young prime had gone through, it shouldn’t have surprised Ratchet at all that the red mech was experiencing some discomfort. But fortunately, Ratchet’s experience told him otherwise. Something just wasn’t quite right…

“Ratchet, is your comm. turned on?

The question took the medic off guard. “No. I turned it off after comming you about Rodimus. Why?”

Drift’s optics were wide as he straightened his helm and faced Ratchet head on. “They’ve been trying to get ahold of you on the bridge.”

“What? Was there an accident?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” The swordsmech looked stunned as he grabbed his conjunx’s arm and began to lead Ratchet out of the medbay toward the bridge. 

As much as Ratchet enjoyed holding his favorite speedster’s hand, he didn’t enjoy being led anywhere without reason. “Drift, what in the Pit-“

“There’s a call for you. From Cybertron.”

“And they want me why?”

“It’s Optimus Prime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if this has anything to do with Rung...?


	10. Chapter 10

When Ratchet and Drift finally made it to the bridge, they found the space dead silent. Every mech and femme was bent low over their stations and they barely bothered to look up as the new arrivals passed by. Perhaps the most notable thing about the space was that they all had the same emotion in their fields: high-pitched, buzzing anxiety.

The feeling of their fields irritated Ratchet and he ruffled his plating subconsciously. It was unusual for the crew to be so subdued, especially all at once. As the pair made their way to the back office, the medic began to feel the first tendril of dread encircle his spark. Drift waved him in before closing the door behind them both. 

The overhead lights had been dimmed, but Ratchet had no trouble identifying the room’s other occupant. Ultra Magnus stood at parade rest to the right of the door, his optics fixed on the screen before them. The former Enforcer’s face was void of emotion as he spoke. “-shortly. I am unaware as to his having any difficulties-“

The mech on the screen flicked his optics over Ultra Magnus’ shoulder and Ratchet suddenly found himself under the scrutiny of Optimus Prime himself. “Thank you, Magnus. I trust that you’ll let me know of any further developments?”

“Of course, sir.”

As the towering blue mech turned from the screen, his optics caught Ratchet’s gaze. One look said everything that the medic knew Magnus would never verbalize aloud. The Enforcer hadn’t forgotten who placed Megatron on the Lost Light and he certainly hadn’t forgotten what the ex-warlord did to his conjunx. If it came down to it, Ultra Magnus would stand beside his mate and captain before the other power-abusing prime.

When the door clicked closed behind Magnus’ stiff back, Ratchet finally gave the mech on the screen his full attention. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Optimus nodded, his expression hard to read as his battle mask was still in place. “Yes, old friend. You are the only one that I would trust with what I am about to tell you…” The prime gave Drift a pointed look.

As he turned to go, the swordsmech leaned in to brush a chaste kiss to Ratchet’s cheek. “I’ll be outside.”

“Go find Rodimus, please. He hasn’t told Magnus and I want someone watching him until Magnus gets off of his shift.”

Drift nodded quickly, gave the prime on the screen a final glance, and exited the room in search of his amica. Ratchet watched him go, less than pleased with the brisk dismissal of his conjunx by the mech on the televid.

“Ratchet, something is wrong.”

The medic turned back to face the prime. “Isn’t it always?”

Undeterred by the crabby ambulance, Optimus continued. His voice was strangely subdued as he spoke. “The Matrix… do you remember my first time carrying it?”

“Yes, of course. It was…”

_Painful. ___

__On the screen, the prime averted his gaze down and to the right. “I am… experiencing something similar again. My spark… there is a sharp and constant pain radiating from it.”_ _

__“Have you seen a medic?”_ _

__Optimus quickly snapped his optics back to the medic. “No, I have not. I wanted to see if you had a theory first.”_ _

__“I can’t say without a scan.” Ratchet furrowed his brow in thought. “Have a medic run a scan and forward it to me. We’ll go from there.”_ _

__The medic watched as Optimus grimaced. The prime’s shoulder components twitched as if he were suddenly forced to keep his hands still. “Is there…anything that can be done in the mean time?”_ _

__“Request a mild dampener and to be fitted for an implanted sparkspin monitor. If there are any questions, direct them to me. I’m still on record as your personal physician, as far as I know.”_ _

__“That is correct. Thank you, Ratchet.”_ _

__Ratchet waved his hand in response, turning back toward the door as the screen zeroed to black. As he made his way back out onto the eerily quiet bridge, the dread in his spark tightened even further._ _

__

__~o0o~_ _

__

__Rung coughed harshly into his elbow. His optics watered with the force of it as he pitched forward. The pill stubbornly refused to go down; his throat was too dry. Likely because he hadn’t been able to keep any coolant or energon down._ _

__Gulping air desperately through his vents, the doctor bent at the waist as his throat struggled around the medication. The quick motion caused his spark to pulse harshly in his chest and his optics flickered. He was moving too much-_ _

__The slender bot felt to his knees, nearly smacking his face against the sink as he went down. It wasn’t often that his spark itself acted up. But when it did…_ _

__Rung briefly considered paging someone for help. Ratchet, Nightbeat, Nautica, anyone! But he closed his comm. the moment that he opened it, just like he always did. They didn’t need to know, didn’t need to worry. What could they do anyway? There was no use in dragging them in._ _

__He managed to drag in another breath as the coughing eased and the pill began to dissolve at last. Gently, Rung lifted a hand to massage at his newly sore neck components. The movement reminded him of the bandages that still needed changing underneath his wrist plating. But that was only going to happen if he could get up off of the washracks floor._ _

__Instead of trying to crawl to his feet, Rung curled up on the tiles beneath the sink. This cycle was his cycle off so he didn’t have to be anywhere anyway. What was the point of getting up? He would only move out into his equally empty berthroom to lay down in his too-large-for-one-mech berth…_ _

__Sighing heavily, the psychiatrist allowed his tired frame to relax. He knew that he would regret recharging on the floor; his spinal strut would be as tight as ever. But the discomfort was easier to handle than the memories that followed him to berth._ _


	11. Chapter 11

“Hello, Rodimus. How are you this cycle?”

The prime shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “I, uh… I’ve been having pains. In my chest. I could be better.”

Rung cocked his helm to the side, silently asking for an explanation. When the mech across from him didn’t offer one, the psychiatrist reached out with his field. “Have you been to the medbay about it?”

“Yeah, I went to the medbay. Ratchet didn’t know what it was and he still doesn’t.”

“Hm. Well, what do you think it is?”

Rodimus winced openly. “I- I think it might be ghost pain? That’s what I call it anyway.”

“Do you care to explain, Rodimus?” Rung typed the term into his datapad for later.

“Like… my spark casing was damaged pretty bad, but now it’s healed. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but it still does. Does that make sense?”

Rung nodded slowly in understanding. He new exactly what the other mech was talking about. When the aching in his back started up, or when his hands froze, Rung often wondered if he himself was experiencing something similar. He’d told himself before that that’s what it was and that it wasn’t worthy of bothering the medics with.

In his chair, Rodimus had begun picking at his fingers. Rung watched, strangely detached as tiny golden flakes of paint fell onto his desk. “Have you told Ultra Magnus about this, Rodimus?”

“No,” the prime murmured quietly, “and I know what you’re gonna say. ‘He would understand,’ right? But how do you tell your new conjunx that you can still feel your ex tearing you apart from the inside?”

The end of the young prime’s sentence came out heavily distorted with static. Upon completing it, he leaned forward to bury his face in his folded arms on the desk top.

Rung didn’t know what to say to that at first. Instead, he stared down at the shaking mech before him, seeing another mech in his place. He saw his younger self in Rodimus Prime, confused, broken and lost on how to fix everything that he deemed to be wrong with himself.

So Rung did something he’d never done with a patient before.

The therapist stood up from behind his desk and made his way around the other mech. Without hesitating, he reached out and lay a hand on the Rodimus’ shoulder. 

The plating under his palm jumped, obviously surprised with the contact. But before Rung could apologize, the red mech had lifted his helm and turned to face him.

Rodimus Prime’s optics were far older than Rung had ever seen them. They were a pale gray color, barely lit behind the tears standing in them. The smile that he stretched his mouth into looked painfully spurious compared to the clear suffering in his field. “Does…Does it ever stop? The hurting part?”

“I’m afraid that it does not. But time makes it easier to cope with.”

The younger mech bowed his helm again, defeat clear in his field. Rung was once again unsure of how to comfort the mech before him and instead moved to squeeze lightly at Rodimus’ shoulder before letting go. 

When the prime lifted his chin again, his optics were still tear-filled. But now his field held a quiet determination as he met Rung’s steady gaze. “Thanks, Ring.”

“Of course, Rodimus.”

 

~o0o~

 

Perceptor enjoyed explaining things. He liked being able to talk about the steps of processes and educating others on how things worked. It gave him satisfaction, a feeling of completeness. He’d come to appreciate the feeling more these cycles.

Across the lab, Brainstorm squealed. Within clicks, Perceptor was at the other mech’s side, prepared for whatever tragedy had struck his haphazard lab partner. “What happened?”

“Oh!” The teal jet turned bright optics back to Perceptor, his field alight with excitement. “A breakthrough with the newest invention, that’s all! I promise it won’t explode… yet. Maybe.”

“You should be more careful.”

Brainstorm snorted through his vents as his stern intended made his way back to his side of the lab. “You’re one to talk! How many times have you dropped the same Erlenmeyer this cycle?”

“Four times.” Deadpanning on purpose, Perceptor watched the exasperation overtake the other mech’s face.

“ _Four times?! _” The notorious scientist made his way over to where Perceptor was hunched over his work bench. “Slag, that’s a record for you, Percy. What’s got you so distracted? And don’t say it’s my aft-”__

__Despite Brainstorm’s light teasing, Perceptor’s throat cables were still tight with worry._ _

__He’d changed the future some time ago with the mission of saving Brainstorm. In the process, he’d learned quite a few things about his crewmates that he wouldn’t have known otherwise. For instance, he knew that Brainstorm really liked him a lot more than he would ever outwardly let on. Maybe the jet even loved him._ _

__But some of the things that Perceptor learned were much more sinister. For instance, he had also learned that Rung struggled with his own unknown battles. The scientist grmaiced as the memories returned. The alternate timeline had ended with more than just Brainstorm’s and Rodimus’ bodies being flung from the airlock-_ _

__Perceptor abruptly turned his helm and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his lab partner’s facemask. The jet jumped at the touch and cast the microscope a sidelong glance. It was unusual for Perceptor to initiate affection so openly, especially in the lab where anyone could walk in. “What was that for?”_ _

__“No reason in particular.”_ _

__The sniper felt Brainstorm’s optics following him as he made his way back to his own workbench. As he settled down and tried to refocus on his project, he tried to push away the memory of the other timeline and everything that had happened. Thing were different now. He’d made sure of that._ _

__Really, Rung’s trauma shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. A mech of Rung’s age and experience would understandably have some unresolved issues. With him being the ship’s only therapist, who did the orange mech have to turn to? So far, the scientist hadn’t detected any signs of Rung turning toward his fate in the alternate timeline. And he’d been living up to his name-_ _

__Perceptor felt adventurous hands playing with his scope, tilting it downward. The sniper gasped slightly as the fingertips were replaced by an equally mischievous mouth. “’Storm, not in the lab…”_ _

__His thoughts were stolen away as oral lubricant laved across his scope’s sensitive lens. Brainstorm licked at the surface for a few kliks more before purring quietly. “Oh, let up some. What’s hotter than fragging me over your work bench? You know you’ve wanted to.”_ _

__It was true, he thought about it before. Especially when the other scientist was being an exceptional aft…_ _

__As Perceptor allowed his charge to rise under the other scientist’s capable hands, his worries about the therapist drifted away. It was a new timeline aft all, one where Megatron had been banished from the ship, Rodimus had found a caring conjunx, and Drift and Ratchet were alive. Who knew what could’ve been changed? The little orange mech was probably just fine._ _

__The therapist had Ratchet and Ultra Magnus after all. What was his name again?_ _


	12. Chapter 12

Swerve’s was just as packed as it always was when Rung rounded the hallway corner. He didn’t typically come by of his own accord, but his habsuite was just too dimly lit that cycle. Instead of staying in, he elected that a drink or two couldn’t hurt.

The doorway was crowded with mechs and femmes, all of them too charged to notice his arrival. Somehow, Rung managed to find an opening and squeezed inside, barely missing being squished by two mech’s swinging each other around in their version of a ‘dance.’ 

“Hey, Wrong! Over here!”

The therapist lifted his optics from the floor. Across the room and seated at his favorite corner table was Tailgate. The minibot was surrounded by his usual company, Cyclonus on his left and Rewind on his right. Chromedome held his conjunx on his lap while he conversed with a backward leaning Brainstorm. Or at least he was trying to talk to the obviously drunk scientist. Brainstorm was more focused on feeling up a rather pink-looking Perceptor.

Tailgate was waving furiously at Rung like his life depended on it, trying to beckon the orange mech over to their table. Happy to have somewhere to go, Rung indicated that he’d be over soon and made his way through the crowd to the bar.

“Hey, er- doc-bot! What can I get for yuh?” 

Swerve stumbled over the nickname, obviously trying to cover up the fact that he’d forgotten Rung’s real name again. True to his nature, the slender mech didn’t call him out and instead smiled politely. “Just a light spritzer please.”

“Comin’ right up!” Rung watched with amusement as the rotund little minibot darted away, the appropriate glass already in his hand. The sight made the therapist smile. If Swerve couldn’t remember his name, then at least he could remember his usual drink.

While he waited, the shy psychiatrist cast his optics out over the dance floor. He immediately spotted Nautica and Nightbeat, both of them well past tipsy as they laughed raucously together. The amicas were twirling around the room, tangled up in each other’s limbs as they danced around the other bots. 

The sight of them together caused something to burn in Rung’s spark. Nautica had also taken him on as her amica, but he had been unable to sparkbond with her and the others assembled. They hadn’t understood why it was that he couldn’t bring himself to open his chest plates and bare his spark to them. 

Rung could still see their faces when he’d declined and he felt the familiar feeling of shame clouding his helm. They had graciously still counted him as one of their amica enduras, but it wasn’t the same. He’d denied them seeing his spark and therefore hadn’t accepted them on the deepest level that amicas could. Rung hadn’t been able to bare having them see what he really was under his plating.

“Hey, buddy, you good?”

Rung jumped at the sound of Swerve’s voice right beside his audial. Quickly, he tried to recover himself before the other mech could notice. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Swerve.”

Seemingly satisfied and giving Rung a final once over, the bartender turned to his other patrons still waiting to be served. With his drink finally in hand, Rung began the harrowing journey across the establishment to the table in the corner.

On his way, he tried to hurriedly steel himself for the social interactions to come. Rung was a very private mech who honestly preferred to be on his own those cycles. He hadn’t always been such a way, of course, but some things just couldn’t be regained after what he’d been through.

When he reached the table at last, he’d successfully managed to keep the majority of his drink in his cube. Some of it was slick on his fingers due to his having to dodge the mass of moving bodies on the dance floor, but that was to be expected. 

As Rung seated himself, Chromedome kindly extended a napkin for the mess. On the nmemosurgeon’s left, Tailgate’s visor flashed excitedly as he continued the story that he’d been telling. The topic immediately put Rung on edge.

“-and I’d never even seen one before. I mean, the other disposal bots had them of course, but we never had time to do anything with our shifts being so tight and recharge periods so short-“ The minibot tilted his helm back and gazed up at the stoic seeker by his side. “It was amazing and perfect and-”

Cyclonus’ lips quirked slightly and he gently took his minibot’s chin in talon-tipped fingers. Tailgate’s excited chatter trailed off as the larger mech turned his helm to press a firm kiss on the front of the disposal bot’s facemask. Tailgate’s mask flushed a becoming shade of pink and he squirmed around in his seat, obviously rubbing his plump little thighs together as his larger intended pulled away once more. Cyclonus’ face was just as impassive as before as he returned to his drink, leaving the white mech beside him wiggling around and his visor fritzing dizzily. 

Beside them, Rewind flickered his own visor, an interpretation of rolling his optics. “So you’re telling me that you’re older than Optimus Prime and you just now gave your seals away?” Still unable to speak after Cyclonus’ kiss, the minibot nodded quickly, his little vents flaring with excitement. 

Rung dragged his fingertips through the ring of moisture left behind on the table by his cube. He remembered losing his seals all too well.  
Before the psychiatrist’s thoughts could dwell on the experience, the chair beside him was pulled away from the table, making him jump. A klik later, Brainstorm slumped into it, his plating glimmering with a thin layer of condensation from dancing. The jet’s optics were glowing with excitement and it was clear that the scientist was smiling broadly behind his mask. “Did I hear something about losing seals?”

“Yeah!” Tailgate giggled as he was lifted and placed on Cyclonus’ lap. The purple mech scooted over to give the newly arrived Perceptor a seat. “We were just talking about how we all lost our seals.”

Rung watched the teal jet’s face carefully as Tailgate finished speaking. He’d suspected for some time that Brainstorm still had his seals, especially by the way he spoke about interfacing during their sessions. The scientist was one to blush heavily and evade the topic when it came up.

Tonight, however, the inventor simply looked across at his intended and laughed. “I can’t remember to be honest. It was a while ago now-“  
It was obvious to the experienced psychiatrist that the mech was lying. Rung’s suspicions were further confirmed when Brainstorm proceeded to take a large swig from his mug, nearly draining the potent beverage in one chug. He only stopped when the attention of the table had turned elsewhere. When it had, he cast his intended a strange look, but Perceptor refused to look at him. The red microscope was hiding behind his own glass, drinking slowly and deeply until Brainstorm rolled his optics and looked away. Rung couldn’t help but wonder what the story was there.

“What about you, Jung? How’d you lose your seals?”

The question hung in the air as Rung turned his gaze away from the scientists to the rest of the group. Nautica and Nightbeat had also joined the table, standing off the side and panting through their vents. They must’ve caught the end of Tailgate’s question because they, along with everyone else, were staring at Rung.

The memory struck him without warning, immediately filling Rung’s throat with bile. 

_-roaming hands, fangs biting at his panel. Laughing optics peering up at him, enjoying the sound of his begging, his pleading for the other to stop- ___

__The psychiatrist’s mouth went dry, but he opened it anyway, his vocalizer stuttering with static. Across the table, Cyclonus narrowed his optics._ _

___-energon coating the other mech’s face in a fine spray as he tore the closed panel away. He’d crawled up the smaller mech’s frame like a hungry turbofox cornering prey. Rung hadn’t been able to fight back- ____ _

____Rung could feel his throat closing around the words. “I-I can’t remember.”_ _ _ _

____“Aw, come on, Jung, loosen up! Who was it? Is that why you won’t wanna say?”_ _ _ _

_____-dry. It’d been dry and tight and- ____ _ _ _

______“You can tell us! We won’t judge you, promise. Who was it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah, come on, doc-bot! Who was the lucky mech or femme, hmm?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______-hands pinned him down, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t escape- ____ _ _ _ _ _

________“Rung?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The sound of his name dragged Rung from of the memory, leaving him trembling hard enough to drop his drink. The cube shattered on the floor, but the psychiatrist barely noticed. He had to escape-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A hand rested gently on his shoulder and he twisted away, yelping in surprise. Rung was on his peds in an instant, nearly slipping in the mess on the floor as he darted out from under the large hand. He had to run, had to get out, had to get away, they couldn’t catch him, not again, not again, not again-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Before anyone at the table had time to react, the little psychiatrist had jumped up and bolted out of the bar. They could do nothing but stare after him in shocked confusion, trying to review all that had been said before his sudden departure._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Cyclonus watched the diminutive mech go, a dark suspicion creeping into his processor. It wasn’t his place to guess why the subject had effected Rung so badly, but he had a feeling that he knew what was going on. If it was true…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He turned his scarlet gaze to the mech across the table from him, the mech standing just behind Rung’s abandoned chair with his hand frozen in midair. The ambulance’s field was still stunned, his optics wide as he stared at the doorway were the therapist had disappeared. Cyclonus doubted that he’d ever seen Ratchet so taken back in all the time he’d known the experienced medic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	13. Chapter 13

By the time he made it back to his private hab, Rung’s vents had fully accelerated into desperate pants. The whole way there, he’d felt the presence of the mech from so long ago, the one who’d stolen his seals. The monster had left the smaller mech to die in the gutter, defenseless and bleeding.

The little therapist slammed the door shut behind him and activated the highest level of lock that he could engage. But even after he had buried himself under the covers in his berth, he could still feel his torturers, could hear their growling laughter as they tore him apart cycle after cycle. Rung made himself as small as he could and wedged his helm under one of his numerous pillows.

“Oh, dearest Rung. You poor thing. Always trying to hide what you are.”

Unlike the voices of his Functionalist tormentors, the voice of Rung’s former amica could not be drowned out with pillows or pills or engex. Even though no field could be felt, Froid’s presence seemed to permeate the air whenever he came around, filling Rung’s audials with his seemingly warm, understanding voice. Though the calming timbre didn’t fool the psychiatrist, the memories that Froid’s voice held still managed to make his spark skip a spin. “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t what? Be specific if you can.”

“You aren’t real.”

“Now, now. Why don’t you sit up for me? You know that hiding during sessions doesn’t help anyone.”

His optics dim with acceptance, Rung uncovered his helm and sat up form the berth covers. It was true that Froid wasn’t real, He knew that. But Rung’s former rival and amica was relentless when it came to dredging up memories and traumas. He wouldn’t stop until Rung cooperated and, even then, sometimes it didn’t stop.

Suddenly angry, Rung tore the glasses from his own face, glaring at the apparition in the corner. “Leave me alone! Go away!”

Froid chuckled softly as if amused. “Wrung, don’t you see? I already did leave! And now there’s no one to keep you accountable anymore, no one to keep you honest… Not with the crew… Not with yourself. That’s why I’m here now.”

“W-What?”

“You created me, Rung.” The blue and white mech sidled forward, his gangly limbs hanging eerily limb at his sides. He looked like a wrath stepping from the shadows. “I’m not real, but you needed someone to keep you company, to remind you of who you are. Who better to do that than your rival, your better mech?”

Within the span of a klik, Froid was immediately at the smaller mech’s side. “They may have stolen your confidence, your job, your precious lover. But I stole what you lived for: your work. You have nothing important to your name-“ Froid was close enough to whisper softly in the other psychiatrist’s audial, his words silky smooth even in their devastating harshness. “You are nothing to anyone anymore. Why don’t you save the universe some trouble?”

“What do you mean?”

Froid laughed and the sound made Rung look at him at last. He found himself almost nasal bridge to mask with the other mech. Froid’s golden optics were enchanting as he continued, lolling Rung into a false sense of peace.. “It’s been trying to kill you for so long… why don’t you help it some? It would do the Lost Light a favor, after all the lies you’ve told. All the confidences that you’ve broken… after tonight, they know what you are, or at least they will know soon. A perfect waste of energon and metal, used up and useless. No one would blame you at all.”

It took several kliks for Rung’s lagging processor to understand what the other mech was saying. By the time he’d pieced the words together and had gasped in horror, Froid was long gone, the room once more empty and quiet. 

Even though the voices had stopped echoing in his audials, the little orange mech replayed them in his helm for the remainder of the night.

 

~o0o~

 

It wasn’t the first time that Rodimus had cancelled his session. In fact, he was cutting into the red zone, barely attending enough required blocks to avoid a call to Ratchet. When Rung checked his schedule, he sighed. The young prime was one session cancellation away from him being forced to call the grumpy senior medic.

During Rodimus’ time slot, Rung sat silently at his desk. Without a patient to distract him, he was left with his thoughts. 

With the light of the daycycle, he’d struggled to remind himself that Froid was dead and that what he’d said wasn’t true. He was worth it. This lifecycle was worth it. Even though he’d been barred from practicing all those years ago, he was still capable of helping those in need. He hated to lie… but who else was there to help the survivors of the war through their trauma? There were few enough medics as it was and even fewer who specialized in processor health. They needed him.

Rung piddled with his stylus, drawing in a shaky vent as he tried to focus on the datapad in his hands. His quick escape from Swerve’s the night before had agitated some of his old injuries. His spinal strut creaked as it always did, but now the segment connecting his torso to his pelvic plating felt like it was on fire. What little engex he’d managed to take in sat souring in his tank, refusing to process as the rest of his frame struggled to handle the warnings and alerts accumulating on his HUD.

The orange mech dropped the stylus with gasp as a particularly hard twinge of his finger components sent a shot of pain up his arm and through his shoulder. It took his breath away for moment or two as he tried to collect himself, tried to cut of the sensors routing his pain receptor to his processor. But before he could begin to try, his comm. pinged.

Rung turned his attention inward to find a comm. from Cyclonus. Brief and to the point, the purple flyer informed him that he wouldn’t be able to make it to his session that cycle. Closing his comm., the psychiatrist didn’t bother to answer back. Instead, he reached for his desk drawer, craving the small relieve that the pills might afford him-

“Well that’s rude. So we’re ignoring patients now?”

Across the desk, Froid sat primly, his fingers tented as he studied his ex-amica. The rival psychiatrist watched, unimpressed as Rung removed two pills and swallowed them dry. “Do you think they’ll help you? You know what the real problem is, Jung, so why don’t you face it?”

Rung elected not to answer as he moved to replace the bottle back into the drawer. But before he could release it from his hand, a set of lithe, graceful fingers closed over his own. The orange mech froze as Froid’s breath ghosted over his cheek. “Take another one.”

“But-“

“Rodimus isn’t coming and neither is Cyclonus. They don’t need you, so don’t worry. Just take another one.”

Dazed by the other mech’s closeness and the effects of the first two pills, Rung unscrewed the lid with shaking hands. Maybe Froid was right. Another pill couldn’t hurt, could it? 

 

~o0o~

 

It was rare for Cyclonus to come to the medbay alone. Usually, he was dragging a complaining Tailgate or Magnus was sending him after a fight with Whirl. 

Ratchet studied the tall mech suspiciously, searching for an injury. “If you aren’t bleeding out, then I have work to do.”

Cyclonus’ optics narrowed slightly and he shifted his peds. “I am not injured.”

“Then why the Pit are you bothering me?”

“I am here to speak with you about a crewmate.”

Ratchet snorted, but sat aside his datapad. “About a crewmate, huh? Did you kill Whirl finally? Or is Tailgate sparked up?”

The medic got an unreasonable amount of glee from watching the stoic bot blush. He didn’t flinch when Cyclonus gritted visible fangs together. “Doctor, I would appreciate it if you would be serious.”

“And I would appreciate getting some work done! But it doesn’t look like that will be happening any time-“

“It’s Rung.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: graphic portrayal of an overdose

His mouth watered heavily and the excess lubricant allowed another pill to slide down his throat. Rung was vaguely aware of his own hand covering his mouth, ensuring that he didn’t try to instinctively spit it out. Froid’s hand was cupped over his own, helping and supporting him as his swallowed the pill down. The blue and white mech’s optics were cold, but his voice was soft, almost caring. “Feeling better yet, friend of mine? How are your hands?”

The orange mech leaned forward slightly against his desk. The world seemed to spin around him and nothing came into focus no matter how hard he tried. It was true that his hands and his spinal strut had long since stopped aching. The pain had ceased entirely, in fact, replaced by calm numbness and peace. 

Rung could practically feel the drugs running through his lines, making his energon thin and his spark lazy. He knew that he should’ve been scared, but the relief was enough to make him upend the bottle and swallow the last pill, this time without Froid’s helping hand.

“Ah, there you go, Dung. They won’t miss you, at least not for a little while. Go on, lay back…”

Rung blinked slowly at the other mech, watching as Froid flickered and wavered like a mirage. When he tried to respond, he found that his lips wouldn’t work. His face was numb and his vocalizer was sticky-

How many pills had he taken? Whatever the number had been, it was the perfect amount. Sure, Rung remembered in waning clarity all of the torment that he’d suffered and survived, but he had begun not to care so much. It was like his processor was too sluggish to process the emotions connected to those traumatic events.

The psychiatrist tried to stand up, one sensor-deprived hand braced against his desk. He promptly stumbled backward into his chair and the action caused him to squint in irritation with himself. It was wonderful to finally feel better, but this just wouldn’t do. 

Nearby, Froid chuckled under his breath. “Don’t you get it?” Unable to speak with his glossa feeling so swollen, Rung turned hazy optics on his former amica. Froid rolled his own optics in exasperation. “You did it. Finally. All you have to do it sit there and let it happen-”

“L-Le’ wah h’pen?”

“Freedom from everything and everyone who’s ever wronged you. Just relax…”

Rung allowed himself to sag back, caressed by the silkiness of other other mech’s words. That sounded so nice, to be free, to sleep, to never to wake up with the memories, to escape the the pain, to die-

The thought paralyzed him, realization dawning. That’s what he was doing. He was dying, slowly and painlessly. The idea had once scared him, but not anymore. He didn’t have to try and the universe wasn’t going to stop him.

Rung tried again to struggle onto his peds.

Froid’s optics widened. “Where are you going?”

The orange mech ignored him and pulled himself up from the chair. He had to delete his patient files, had to protect them one last time. Perhaps he hadn’t helped them at all, but he could still save them the final indignity of having their files being found-

But Rung couldn’t make it. The first step that he took away from his desk’s supportive frame, he stumbled. To his own immense relief, he didn’t feel himself hit the ground.

Rung gulped one breath at a time, his body limp on the cold, hard floor. Already he could feel his mouth filling with lubricant as his frame fought to purge the pills. But even as the rest of him fought instinctively to stay online, Rung allowed himself to smile. It would finally be over. The physical pain was already gone. The rest would follow it soon…

He sighed heavily as peace washed over him and Rung felt his tanks twist as the pills began to process further. Before long, he could feel his intake flooding with foamy fluid, could feel it tracking from the corner of his mouth. Something, perhaps an organ near his lower spine, felt like it had caught fire. 

The smile never once left Rung’s face, even as the darkness crept toward the edges of his vision…

“Rung?”

_Primus. ___

__The psychiatrist could still feel the floor against his front, the fluid spilling from his lips. His body was still warm, even as his frame was relaxed beyond the point of Rung being able to move on his own. It all proved that he was still online, but…_ _

__“Oh, Rung. What have you done?”_ _

__Familiar, gentle hands brushed against his frame, like their owner wasn’t sure where to touch. Though Rung was too weak to turn his helm, he knew that his lost lover was on his knees leaning over him._ _

__“Can you hear me, babe? Can you move at all?”_ _

__Rung’s vocalizer was sodden with half-purged energon and it felt like it was ablaze. He pulsed his field weakly, tears slipping from his optics. His glasses had been knocked off in the fall, allowing the evidence of his fear to flow freely down his face and onto the floor. Within his chest, Rung felt his spark starting to slow down._ _

__He’d wanted to see him again so badly. Even if his lover had come to blame him one more time for his death alone in the brig._ _

__It had been thousands (millions?) of years since Rung had seen him. His forbidden secret, forever used and held against him by Froid._ _

__The orange mech struggled against the effects of the drugs in his system, suddenly filled with panic. He had to see the other mech. Just a glimpse of his plating, or the shadow of his profile. Such small things as those would be enough. But Rung couldn’t move, his body surrendering to the effects of the overdose he’d given himself._ _

__Somewhere above, the bigger mech shifted. Sadly, Rung lamented, his lover had no field for him to bath in as his processor began to shut down._ _

__“Sweetspark, why would you do this to yourself?”_ _

__Rung really tried to answer, but only a dull croak left his sparking vocalizer. Did his lover understand? Did he understand how sorry he was for denying him all these years?_ _

__“Mmmmzzzhhhh- ggghhhhhzzzz-”_ _

__“Hush now, sweetspark. It’ll all be over soon.”_ _

__But Rung fought to talk. He had to tell him, had to let him know that he didn’t regret what they’d had for a klik. It had been worth everything to Rung, those moments they’d shared. He hadn’t seen it as something to be ashamed of. Not even when the tribunal had taken away his career._ _

__Rung was hardly aware as soft lips pressed against the side of his helm. Those lips were warm against his chilled plating, lifting a final sigh from the failing mech’s shivering vents. If only he could see him-_ _

__“Eyebrows?”_ _

__The dying mech blinked lethargically at the doorway, the shadow of a new mech falling across the floor toward him._ _


	15. Chapter 15

When Perceptor showed up and interrupted his meeting with Cyclonus, Ratchet began to understand the gravity of the situation. It was out of character for the purple flight frame to be aware of his crewmates’ troubles, let alone for him to try and help in remedying the issues he saw. But when Perceptor came in, his field awash with distress, the medic knew that something was definitely, terribly wrong. Especially when the sniper also claimed that he thought Rung was in danger and it wasn’t something to do with Brainstorm.

The scientist quickly corroborated Cyclonus’ story concerning the night before at Swerve’s. He was more upset than the medic had ever seen him as he relayed what he had noticed, detailing Rung’s pallid coloration and his inability to focus on anything for very long. Some of what Perceptor said were things that only a mech intimately familiar with suicidal mechs would notice. It caught Ratchet’s attention and he filed it away so that he could question the scientist about it later.

Hurriedly, Ratchet got to his peds, no longer peeved at the interruption and instead very concerned for the mech that he called a friend. “Have either of you seen or heard from Rung since last night?”

Perceptor shook his helm in the negative and Cyclonus shrugged. “I notified him that I would not be in for my… session. I did not disclose why.”

“So he doesn’t know that you came to see me?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d prefer that he didn’t know I was coming. He won’t have time to hide anything that way.” Ratchet hesitated for a moment. “I will pay him a visit now. I surely don’t need to tell you both to keep this to yourselves.”

Both mech’s nodded solemnly and Ratchet decided not to waste threats on them. If he had to pick any two mechs on the Lost Light to know about what was going on, Cyclonus and Perceptor would’ve been his top choices. Except for perhaps Ultra Magnus.

“You will keep us updated, doctor?”

The medic barely managed to keep the surprise out of his field as he answered Cyclonus’ question. “If anything were to happen… I’d let you know.”

The flightframe nodded before abruptly turning a leaving the office. After a moment more, Perceptor followed him out. The sniper’s optics were far away as he left, his field rattling with despair that didn’t reach his face. Yes, Ratchet would definitely be talking to Perceptor later.  
But right now, he had something far more urgent to tend to. 

Ratchet drew in a vent before steadying himself. He knew that Rung would be in a session with Whirl right then and he hated to interrupt whatever the psychiatrist might’ve been accomplishing with the often unstable chopper. But something, dare he call it a gut feeling, told him to head for Rung’s office immediately.

 

~o0o~

 

Whirl was usually late to his meetings with Rung. He didn’t need ‘counseling’ or whatever it was that Ultra Magnus said the little orange bot did. Really, it was an inconvenience. Right now, for instance, it was really digging into his prank-planning time.

He shoved the door to Rung’s office open, a sharp retort already cued up in his vocalizer. Something witty and smart that would put that pretty blush on Eyebrows’ face-

The chopper was rarely struck speechless. But what waited for him in the office stole the thoughts from his helm.

Rung lay on the floor, his optics dark. Little tremors shook his frame and a gummy froth was seeping from his intake, down his cheek, and onto the floor. As the stunned helicopter watched, tiny orange fingertips twitched against the floor, the only indication that the mech before him was even alive. Well, that and the dull gurgle emanating from the orange mech’s throat.

Whirl’s first instinct was defense. Whoever had taken out Rung could still be around, after all.

As he scanned the room carefully, the empurata survivor made his way toward the mech on the floor. “Hey, doc, what happened?”

There was no answer as Whirl bent over the mech on the floor. The smaller bot’s orange coloring had faded considerably since Whirl had entered the office, turning a sickly peach with each passing klik. The sight was enough for the helicopter to grow worried. 

Reaching out, he plucked Rung’s arm up in his claw and let it go. The therapist didn’t react as his hand thudded back down harshly to the floor, his fingers stiff with cold.

Whirl felt himself suddenly growing angry as he searched the room a second time. Who had done this? Only cowards attacked a defenseless non-combatant and then ran away!

The helicopter narrowed his single optic as he scanned each corner, only for it to widen again when his gaze rested back on the still mech beneath him. Uncharacteristically wary, Whirl petted a claw against Rung’s helm. Still, there was no reaction.

As carefully as he could, Whirl managed to lift the orange mech from the floor. There was something disturbing about the way Rung’s helm lolled uselessly and his optics remained darkened and void. It took a lot to upset the ex-Wrecker, but this definitely did.

Whirl nosed the lower curve of his optical scope against the lifeless mech’s helm as he turned and left the office. Once outside, he quickly transformed into his alt mode, safely tucking Rung away in his cockpit. To Pit with Magnus’ rules about flying in the halls. 

No one messed with his Eyebrows and got away with it. The only one allowed to mess with the orange mech was him. Whirl spun up quickly and took off down the hall life a shot. If he wanted to catch whoever it was, Whirl needed the little guy alive in order to get the slaggers’ names.

“Hold on tight, Eyebrows. Gonna getcha to the Hatchet.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to pause and thank everyone who's commented or read my series so far. Y'all are awesome and I appreciate you! You fuel my writing and keep me going :)
> 
> Also, graphic portrayal of a systems purge.

Ratchet was almost to the hallway that led to Rung’s office when he heard the spinning blades. But even with that warning, he still barely had time to react before the other mech came careening around the corner. 

Quickly, the medic dropped into a crouch and avoided getting his helm taken off by the helicopter’s rotors. “WHIRL! What in the fragging Pit are you-“

But before the infuriated doctor could finish his sentence, Whirl was transforming in midair. The gray-blue chopper landed on his peds with a thud and wordlessly pulled a small bundle of arms and legs from his cockpit.

It took Ratchet far too long to recognize the curled up graying chassis resting in Whirl’s claws.

“Found ‘im like this, Doc. In his office. On the floor.”

Ratchet stumbled forward, his optics scanning the little psychiatrist with shock. Foam coated Rung’s faceplates, bubbling obscenely from his mouth and olfactory vents. His once-orange frame was colorless and limp where it hung precariously in Whirl’s hold and the plating was cold when Ratchet took the unconscious bot’s arm in his hand.

Somehow, the surprised medic managed to push aside his emotions, just like he always did, in favor of getting things done. “Lay him down, quick-“

Whirl carefully guided his cargo to the floor, making sure that Rung’s helm didn’t bang against it before he stepped back out of Ratchet’s way. “The Pit is wrong with ‘im, huh? Who did this? Once I find ‘em-“

But Ratchet didn’t hear the rest of the blue mech’s rant as he plugged his diagnostic cable into Rung’s medical port. He ran a quick scan, even though he already knew what he would find.

Toxicity warnings blared loudly throughout Rung’s weakening systems, fading one by one as his body shut down. Ratchet watched the code as it ran before his optics, frantically running through his options. When his analyses came back, the medic allowed his shoulders to slump in defeat. 

Rung’s vents had already stopped and his spark, though still dimly lit, had ceased to turn. If his current state continued, he would face processor death, spark failure, coma, deactivation- all of which would occur within the next several kliks. They had no more time and Ratchet knew of only one thing that could bring back a mech that was this far gone.

“Whirl, clear this hallway; I don’t want anyone coming up on this.”

“You need to get to the medbay, Doc?”

“No- No, there’s no time.”

As Whirl bounded away, Ratchet racked through his own systems for the appropriate code to begin the process. He’d used a far milder rendition of it often during the war and on the Lost Light when his patients were overcharged on engex. But in all of his medical experience, the former CMO had never had to use the more powerful, dangerous coding he sought.

In most cases, such a code transfer would only be risked under controlled circumstances. A systems purge was usually conducted while the bot suffering it was placed under medically induced stasis. Furthermore, the mech or femme’s mobile functioning systems would be shut down to avoid the possibility of self-injury and, after that, they would be wrapped in several insulated cooling blankets to prevent sensor damage from overheating.

There was no time for such comforts and precautions. The hallway floor would have to do.

As gently as he could, the experienced medic pulled Rung against him so that the smaller mech’s spinal strut was pressed against his chest. The dying mech’s helm came to rest against Ratchet’s shoulder and the doctor felt Rung’s slender frame release a gust of soured air. The sound of weak choking soon followed and the psychiatrist fell still again, his systems unable to purge on their own.

Ratchet took two slender wrists into his hands and gripped them tightly, crossing them over Rung’s own chest. Using his connection to lifeless mech’s medical port, Ratchet sent across the data packet and held on tight. At the last klik, the medic turned his helm to whisper against the side of Rung’s face. “I’m so sorry.”

Upon receiving the data packet, Rung’s frame spasmed in Ratchet’s arms, his systems coming back online so abruptly that the little mech nearly broke out of the medic’s strong hold. Ratchet struggled to hold on as a thin wail broke from Rung’s previously corrupted vocalizer, indicating that his body had, with the help of the code packet, begun to purge whatever he’d overdosed on and that he was in the process of initiating a hard reset. His plating flared outward, suddenly pouring heat as his frame temperature was forced to climb by the programming that Ratchet had sent. The only way to rid Rung’s systems of the pills was to literally burn their effects from his lines and protoform.

Rung continued to jerk in the medic’s hold, like the little mech was trying to escape his own frame. Ratchet soon felt his own plating being seared by the immense amount of scalding air that was leaving Rung, causing the sensors within the his hands to burn out and recalibrate, only to repeat the same agonizing process a klik later. 

The sensation of having his hands repeatedly set ablaze nearly drove Ratchet to madness, but he refused to let go as the coding continued to run its course. The hardest part, the most dangerous for Rung, was still to come and Ratchet needed to be ready for when it hit. Where his arms were still trapping Rung’s own to his chest, the former CMO could feel the smaller mech’s tanks churning beneath the plating, rapidly filling with code-based purgatives and non-corrosive lubricants. It wouldn’t be long.

As Rung’s frame continued to seize violently, Ratchet could feel him growing weaker and weaker. The mech might not have been conscious for the ordeal, but the medic couldn’t help but whisper soothingly to his friend as the worst of the coding began to fade away. “Shh, almost done, stay with me-“

And then, Rung stiffened a final time. Fluid, a dusky blue-gray color, wept from the corners of the smaller mech’s mouth, bubbling and hissing as it met the hallway’s air. Ratchet continued to hold on as Rung’s tank twisted, emptying itself of anything that the orange mech had taken orally within the past cycle. His worst fears were realized when Ratchet recognized the purge’s color. The acidic fluid was indicative of an overdose on painkillers, specifically the ones that he himself had given Rung so long ago.

Ratchet wasn’t the kind of mech to pray. But as he watched the sludge continue to empty from the psychiatrist’s trembling body, he quickly learned how. His words weren’t anywhere as eloquent as those Drift murmured among his candles, but Ratchet’s prayer was no less sparkfelt as he cradled Rung to his chest.

Ratchet leaned forward so that none of the purge could be sucked back into psychiatrist’s vents when they came online and he released the wrists that he’d held captive throughout the ordeal. To his immense relief, the medic could see that only cleansing lubricant had begun to drool from Rung’s slack mouth, produced to wash away any lingering traces of toxin still remaining within the system. As it came to an end, Ratchet reached to stroke the orange mech’s clammy forehelm, pulsing comfort through his field even though he knew that Rung couldn’t feel it. “I’ve got you… easy now…”

It took longer than what Ratchet would’ve liked, but eventually Rung’s little frame jolted back online. Around his waist, his biolights winked to life, flickering dimly against his dull gray plating. The psychiatrist’s vents gasped a single weak breath, the first that he’d taken since arriving in Whirl’s cockpit. The sickly sound allowed Ratchet to feel somewhat reassured.

Still holding Rung’s limp frame at an angle that kept his vents clear, Ratchet crawled to his peds. He wobbled, dizzy from the effects of the coding on his own systems and stunned that it had actually worked under the circumstances. But even as the doctor allowed relief to flood his lines, he knew that Rung’s condition was far from stable. The smaller bot still hadn’t shown any signs of reviving further, indicating the high likelihood of processor damage. 

“Stay with me, Rung. Just stay with me now…”

Ratchet began to stumble down the hallway in the direction of the medbay, opening his first comm. to First Aid as he went.


	17. Chapter 17

When First Aid got the call, he didn’t believe it at first.

Rung was critical? From an overdose? As he rushed to prep one of the private suites, the new CMO tried to calm his reeling processor. 

Usually, nothing could surprise him. But this? First Aid wanted desperately to believe that it was a terrible accident and that Rung had simply taken too many of the pills that First Aid had seen in his office.

But when Ratchet came stumbling into the medbay, his field awash with confusion and distress, First Aid knew instantly that this had been no accident. Rung’s plating was disturbingly pale and his biolights were barely online. From where the new CMO was standing, holding the door open as Ratchet pushed through, he could see that the psychiatrist had recently undergone a complete systems purge and reset. 

Ratchet quickly lay the smaller mech out on the mediberth before stumbling back. It was obvious that the medic had been effected by administering the coding in such an uncontrolled environment. Before the faltering ambulance could injure himself further, First Aid pushed him into the newly arrived Velocity’s arms and turned his full attention on the mech laying in the mediberth. 

The femme’s optics went round when she spotted Rung, unconscious on the mediberth. “Holy Primus-“

“Make sure he’s alright first. I’ve got this-“

With a hardening of her brow, Velocity guided and visibly spent Ratchet out of the room and into the next suite, intent on making sure that his coding share hadn’t resulted in permanent damage.

First Aid watched them go before turning back to the fading mech on the mediberth. The coding share had without a doubt saved his life, but that didn’t mean that he was out of danger.

As the new CMO hooked Rung up to the crash cart and watched the monitors flicker to life with vital stats, his spark sank at the sight of the readings.

There was no indication of processor activity.

 

~o0o~

 

Rung had been high before. The Functionists had used him as a test subject and had tried all manner of chemicals and procedures on him. There had been times when he hadn’t known where he was or what his name had been. But the way he felt now was…

He couldn’t remember feeling so wonderful in his entire lifecycle.

The little mech sucked in air through his vents, blinking rapidly as he stared up at the medbay ceiling. It had been so long since he’d been without pain every second of his cycle that he’d long since forgotten how good it felt to be alive. He flexed his fingers and they didn’t lock or ache. His spinal strut didn’t spike with agony when he moved to sit up. Even the helmache that had persistently dogged him for millennia had ceased, leaving him able to open his optics completely for the first time.

Rung smiled at the wall beside his mediberth. Slowly, he made his way to his peds, half afraid that walking would shatter the wonderful illusion. But after taking one or two steps and being free of pain, the little psychiatrist couldn’t stop a yell of excitement from escaping his vocalizer. He did a little skip jump before darting out of the room in search of Ratchet or First Aid.

How had they done it? He hated it that they knew about the trauma his frame had suffered, but it was all gone! His HUD was clear, strikingly so without the constantly flashing warnings he’d always been plagued with. His optics were brighter and functioning to maximum efficiency. They’d fixed everything completely!

Rung heard voices coming from the suite next door to the one he’d been laying in and he quickly made his way toward the open door. Usually, Rung wouldn’t have risked walking in on a patient examination. But the door wasn’t closed, so he doubted that there was really an exam in progress taking place within.

“I have to get back in there!”

“No! You’ve fried half of your circuits and-“

“You didn’t see him out in the hallway-“

Rung paused before rounding the corner, recognizing the voices of Ratchet and Velocity within. He didn’t know what they were referring to, but Ratchet’s voice sounded markedly weak and static-filled.

“This is my fault. All my fault…”

Unable to stop himself, the psychiatrist peered into the room.

Ratchet sat in the edge of the mediberth, his hands bracing him upright as he hunched forward. The old medic’s shoulders were shaking and Rung watched as Velocity reached forward and guided Ratchet to lay down. The femme’s face was a cool mask of resolve, carefully placed, but easily recognizable by a another medical professional such as Rung. She was struggling and something was terribly wrong.

Once the medic was laying back on the berth, Rung got his first clear view of Ratchet’s face. The experienced doctor’s optics were wide with shock and dim from recent strain. From his place in the doorway, Rung could hear the words he murmured, riddled with static.

“I tried- but he- there was nothing I could- nothing that I-“

Ratchet looked like a newframe again, fresh to his work and suddenly unsure of anything. Whatever had happened had shaken the battle-hardened mech to his core, driving him to the point of broken sentences and trembling struts.

Rung continued to watch, unsure of what to say as Velocity went about connecting her medical cords to the other doctor’s port. The femme ran the scan as she reached out to brace a hand against Ratchet’s shoulder. The orange mech had never seen the infamously unflappable Ratchet so scattered as he blinked dazedly at the ceiling from the mediberth.

“I’m so sorry Rung- so sorry-“

Ratchet hiccupped and then swallowed thickly, lifting a hand to cover his optics. Beside him, Velocity squeezed his shoulder, still working on her scans.

Rung continued to stare at the two doctors, feeling more bewildered by the klik. “Ratchet, what’s happened? What have you to be sorry for?”

But neither of the bots in the room responded. In fact, neither one of them acknowledged Rung’s presence at all. The psychiatrist crept closer to the pair, a hand outstretched. “Ratchet? Velocity?”

The femme moved to disconnect her medical cords from the other medic’s ports, releasing his shoulder as she did. Her optics were dim with barely concealed sorrow. Rung realized then that he couldn’t feel either of their fields.

Something was horribly wrong.

Velocity’s voice was quiet when she spoke again. “I can’t find anything long lasting, but I want First Aid to take a look when he’s- uhm. When he’s done.”

Not waiting for Ratchet’s reply, Rung backed out of the room. He cast a nervous glance around the medbay, unable to detect First Aid’s field. The place appeared to be largely empty. Turning, he made his way along the row of private suites at the back of the large room.

The first one he came upon was the one he’d come out of just earlier, when he’d awoke from whatever miracle procedure had freed him of his old aches and pains. 

Stepping inside, the sight before him sent Rung faltering back against the open door, a hand clamped over his own mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

Drift had been playing with Swiftblaze in the middle of the floor when it happened.

With Ratchet on duty and nothing to do until his own shift later in the cycle, the speedster had naturally gravitated toward his amica’s hab. Drift loved seeing his friend happy and healthy, especially after everything that Rodimus had been through. Plus, he got to see the ship’s newest edition, Swiftblaze.

The tiny mechling had just started learning how to toddle around in clumsy peds, falling backward onto his rump more often than not. Drift patiently coaxed his ‘nephew’ back up onto his peds, cooing at the bitlet all the while. “Who’s a smart sparkling, huh? Is it you? I bet it’s you. Oh! Rodi, look at him go!”

Drift’s hands hovered under the little triple changer’s arms, ready to catch him if he began to fall. Under his favorite visitor’s watchful gaze, Swiftblaze pattered forward, blowing bubbles of oral lubricant as he stared up at Drift with huge red optics. 

Rodimus stood nearby, smiling contentedly down at his amica and sparkling on the floor. “You know, Drift, he’s never gonna learn to do it if you catch him every time he stumbles a little.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just can’t stand it when he falls down.”

The prime chuckled and shook his helm, giving his best friend a fond look. Primus, if anyone deserved to be a creator, it was Drift. The mech was a natural when it came to the sparkling, never failing to get Swiftblaze to take the bottle or to bathe without fighting. 

The door to the habsuite pinged. A moment later, the towering frame of Ultra Magnus strode into their midst. “Hello, Rodimus. Drift.”

Rodimus pranced over to his mate to claim a chaste kiss. “Hey, Mags. Anything exciting happen on the bridge?”

Ultra Magnus folded the smaller mech against his side after the kiss, a light blush covering his cheeks. Drift doubted that the former Enforcer would ever get used to Rodimus’ displays of affection. “Nothing at all. Here?”

“’Blaze is getting pretty close to walking on his own!” The prime fluttered excitedly and pointed down at the sparkling on the floor.

By that point, Swiftblaze had managed to turn himself around, following the sound of his sire’s voice. When Magnus finally came into the bitlet’s view, he released a happy shriek, waving his stubby arms at the tall blue mech. A string of indecipherable babble followed, like the babe was trying to tell his sire about his cycle.

Ultra Magnus stepped forward and plucked his tiny son from the floor, giving Swiftblaze a smile as he cuddled the mechling to his broad chest. “Is that so? Are you trying to walk, little one?”

The scarlet mechling squealed with delight as he watched his sire’s mouth form the words, reaching to slap his tiny hands against Magnus’ face in approval. The blue mech laughed, actually laughed out loud, and pressed a kiss to his squirming creation's helm.

A gasp from nearby had Drift turning his helm away from the endearing spectacle.

His optics met Rodimus’ for a single klik before the prime’s went dark and he fell strutless to the floor.

 

~o0o~

 

The prime had only been down for mere kliks before his optics lit once more.

Rodimus found himself staring at the ceiling, confused and hurting as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened.

“Rodimus, answer me, please-“

Magnus’ stern voice cracked at the end, the tone turning upward as his voice broke. Rodimus turned his helm slightly and registered that he was laying on the floor, his conjunx and his amica both hovering over him. “Must’ve- blacked out. Or something.”

Drift leant over him from the other side, his hands fluttering uselessly above the red mech without touching his chassis. “Is it your spark again? Does it hurt? Should I call Ratchet?”

Experimentally, the prime sent a testing pulse through the sensors in his chest area. Immediately, a wave of pain overtook him, not as strongly as it had been lately and far less sharp as well. Now, it was an overall ache, resonating throughout his frame whenever his spark sped up or slowed down. Moaning, Rodimus willed himself to stay calm. “W-Where’s ‘Blaze?”

A moment later, the sought after sparkling was looking down at his carrier from his sire’s arms, an anxious little frown on his expressive face. The bitlet chirred and flared his field out to search for his carrier’s and Rodimus felt the distress in Swiftblaze’s wavering EM. In response, he sent reassurance back, doing his best to comfort the sparkling even when he himself was on the verge of panicking.

Above, Ultra Magnus cocked his helm to the side, an indication that the was receiving a comm.

Drift gently rested his hand on the side of the prime’s face in a calming gesture. “Try not to move until we know what caused that, alright?”

“Yeah, but what-“

Ultra Magnus’ somber murmur interrupted him. “Primus.”

Both speedsters turned their helms to face the bigger blue mech, confusion coloring both of their visages. Ultra Magnus’ wasn’t the type pf mech to show emotion too often; he was just recently getting to where he would smile at Rodimus in public. But now, the former Enforcer appeared genuinely sorrowful, venting shakily as he visibly struggled for words.

Drift reached for his amica’s hand as he spoke, his voice hesitant. “Magnus? What’s going on?”

“He’s- he-“ Ultra Magnus lifted a hand to his mouth and looked away.

Rodimus had to force himself to keep from moving to his mate’s aid and remained on the floor. He squeezed Drift’s hand gratefully. “Mags, what is it?”

Before the prime’s mate could answer, Drift sat up straight, his optics unfocused as he too received a comm. Radius grimaced, but quickly discovered that his own comm. system was unavailable, likely a result of his… spark issues. He wasn’t being left out of the loop on purpose. 

With mounting anxiety, the captain tried again. “Drift, what’s going on?”

A moment later, the swordsmech’s optics readjusted and he turned a sorrowful gaze down at his amica. “It’s Rung.”


	19. Chapter 19

News spread quickly of the psychiatrist’s condition and the events leading up to it. Mechs and femmes began appearing outside the medbay, their fear of Ratchet’s unusually nasty temper the only thing keeping them out. They all swore that they’d seen the signs, that they’d been about to do something… but no one took Rung’s condition more personally than Perceptor.

The microscope stared down at his workbench, his field dull with grief as he piddled uselessly with his tools. He should’ve spoken up earlier, should’ve done something to stop what had happened. If he’d gone a mere half cycle earlier, Ratchet would’ve been able to talk some sense into the orange mech and Rung would’ve been saved.

“Percy… I’m so sorry.”

Perceptor nodded and refused to look at his intended, even when the other scientist came to stand at his side. A light hand moved to rest against the sniper’s shoulder and a warm field wafted carefully around him, feeling him out. 

Of course, Brainstorm had no idea why Rung’s condition was so upsetting to his fellow scientist. The inventor didn’t know about the other timeline, the one where he, Rodimus, and Rung all perished within the span of just a few cycles. He couldn’t know that Perceptor had gone back and pulled some strings, had changed their future by using the Brainstorm’s own invention.

Finally giving up on getting anything worthwhile accomplished, Perceptor turned to face his intended. Brainstorm was unusually patient, not asking questions or teasing him as the sniper leaned forward to rest his helm against the jet’s chest plating. The jet’s only reaction was to lay a hand comfortingly against the back of Perceptor’s helm.

 

~o0o~

 

Whirl twisted his claws, staring down at them as he did.

“Come on, Nutjob. You did everything right this time! It’s not your fault.” Tailgate’s visor flashed hopefully as he looked up at the chopper. His field was sad, but optimistic. “It sounds like Ratchet got him in time, so… maybe they can help him.”

Whirl gave the minibot a look and bent lower over their shared table. He could still feel the orange mech’s weight in his claws, could feel the little jerks that Eyebrows’ frame gave as he struggled to breath-

A cube was placed squarely on the table in front of the blue mech, left there by sharp talons before the owner of said talons sat on Whirl’s other side. Cyclonus’ familiar field brushed against the helicopter’s own, naturally calming him down. “Tailgate is correct. You did what you could.”

The empurata survivor suppressed the urge to snort and poked a claw at the energon cube. Maybe if he hadn’t been late to his session this time, things would’ve been different. Maybe if he hadn’t spent so much time looking for an enemy that resided in the psychiatrist’s own helm- maybe if he hadn’t taken the time to transform- maybe- maybe-

“Eh, I’m alright, pipsqueak. Just surprised me, yuh know? Didn’t expect it to be Eyebrows.”

Tailgate cuddled up against his side, snuggling his frame beneath Whirl’s arm. The weight of the mini against his side helped calm the chopper far more than he’d thought it would. The tiny white bot released a soft purr, further calming the larger mech. “None of us knew this would happen. Right, Cyc?”

From his spot on Whirl’s other side, Cyclonus grunted in agreement, wishing that he’d spoken to Ratchet sooner.

 

~o0o~

 

Ratchet held his helm in his hands as Velocity finished up the last of the tests. First Aid had told him- he’d tried to tell him, anyway- the other medic had known that something was wrong-

The former CMO cursed into his hands and he resisted the urge to snap at Velocity when she murmured a request to see his medical port. Unable to meet her optics, he hung his helm and closed his own. What was there to say? He could’ve stopped this from happening if only he’d taken a klik to listen… if only he’d bothered to check in on his friend-

But were they even friends? Friends were there for each other. They supported one another. Clearly, he’d been failing Rung for quite some time.

A familiar field washed over the slumping medic and a klik later he found himself in a pair of strong arms. “Primus, Ratch,” the newly-arrived Drift whispered against his helm, “First Aid told me what you did. Are you okay? Lotty, is he okay?”

“As far as I can, tell he’ll be fine.”

When Drift tried to catch his mate’s optic, the ambulance looked away, not wanting the other mech to know the depth of his thoughts. But the swordsmech was nothing if not persitant and, even though he would never use force, he was still able to guide Ratchet’s chin until he medic was looking at him. 

The speedster’s optics were warm pools of blue, so brilliant with the love that brought Ratchet solace every nightcycle… Had Rung ever had something like that, someone that he could count on when times were hard? Did he have someone to turn to when, being a psychologist, it was his job to help everyone who turned to him?

Distantly, Ratchet was aware of Velocity leaving the room and the door clicking closed behind her. Distantly, he felt Drift pull him into a tight embrace as waves of devotion rippled through his field against the old medic’s plating.

“You can’t do that, Ratch.”

“Hm?”

“Blame yourself. You did everything you could. You did more, even. You can’t blame yourself.”

Ratchet bowed his helm, resting it against Drift’s shoulder. “Did First Aid say how he was doing?”

The swordsmech’s momentary hesitation said all that the former CMO needed to hear. “He says the frame is viable and that the spark is finally out of the red zone. But…”

Ratchet turned his full attention away from his self- deprecation and fixed his mate with a look. “But?”

Drift sighed against the medic’s helm and tightened his hold. “Ratchet-“

“But what, Drift? What did First Aid tell you?”

“He, uhm. He said that… that he may not wake up. He might not ever come around.”

Ratchet had seen the poison as it dripped from Rung’s colorless lips, had watched as the slender frame in his arms seized and tried to fight against the effects of the pills. 

Ratchet had held a hundred comrades in his arms during the war and several dozens of them had passed away in the minimal comfort and safety of his embrace. The medic had prayed that those days were long over. But when Whirl had lain Rung down on the hallway floor-

A ragged gasp left Ratchet’s throat and he lifted a hand to cover the sound. But even that motion couldn’t hide the tears in his optics, couldn’t keep them from spilling down his cheeks. “Primus, this was my fault-“

For once ignoring his mate’s use of the name ‘Primus,’ Drift pulled the other mech flush against his side. “Shhh, babe, don’t say that. It’s not over yet.”

But Ratchet knew the truth. First Aid had told him and he’d done nothing. Cyclonus and Perceptor had tried to tell him, but he’d been in denial. He hadn’t believed it was possible until a certain helicopter had appeared and had handed him the proof, lifeless and cold and gray.

_This was all his fault. ___


	20. Chapter 20

They found the scars as they ran the tests.

First Aid cradled one of the orange mech’s hands between his own, his optics gazing down at it through an X-Ray screen. Beneath the plating, hidden from sight, the little psychiatrist was a mess. Just seeing the state of his hand… First Aid knew that they were in for a long recovery. If Rung ever did come around, that is.

The medic manipulated each digit manually, bending the smaller mech’s crushed and incorrectly healed knuckles. The lines that would’ve drawn the fingers open and closed, functioning like human tendons, were stripped and torn from dragging over the jagged inner workings of the mech’s protoform. In the single hand that First Aid bowed over, there was enough sensory pain to drive any mech mad.

Or to more drastic measures.

On the other side of the mediberth, Velocity silently took diagnostics, her gaze flitting back and forth between the screen she held and Rung’s slack face. The slender mech on the mediberth was rapidly becoming any doctor’s worst nightmare. His hands were ruined, his peds much the same. A scan of his spinal strut showed that nearly every segment had been shattered and crudely re-soldered into imperfectly-shaped pieces. 

The lack of technique appalled First Aid. He’d never seen such botched medical work on any bot in his life, even during the war when proper medics had been rare. As far as he knew, Rung had always been a non-combatant. So where as such grievous wounds come from?

His answer came when he began to remove Rung’s plating, piece by piece.

Chemical burns. Old lacerations, unsutured and warped with scarring. The inner components within the little mech’s wrists were nearly stripped, telling First Aid that Rung’s hands had been replaced by different models several times. There were even scars within his interface array and fractures in his pelvic armor-

First Aid turned away from his findings, overcome. He shared his findings with Velocity and briefly feared that the femme would faint as her face drained of color. They gazed down at the battered, broken frame in the mediberth, unable to fully comprehend what they were seeing.

As he always did when in doubt, the new CMO sent an emergency ping to Ratchet.

 

~o0o~

 

Rung watched as they found each and every one of his old, long-hidden secrets. He wanted to scream, to tell them to stop and just let him go. But he knew that they couldn’t hear him as they worked over his lifeless frame, charting the scars and breaks, the wear and tear on his worthless, used up frame. 

That’s exactly what those long ago touches and attacks made him. Worthless. Used up.

The psychiatrist watched as First Aid, unusually somber, ran a light hand across Rung’s body’s helm. The medic’s hands were unsteady as he adjusted the IV’s feeding into Rung’s lines and his visor flashed every couple of kliks. Rung, having counselled the young doctor through his trauma following Luna 1, knew enough to recognize the signs.

“Velocity? Velocity, he needs to leave- Velocity-“

But the femme didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him. She stood nearby, unaware of her peer’s trembling hands and his quickening vents. 

Rung reached to touch the medic and found his hand sinking through the other mech, incapable of landing a single comforting touch. He was forced to watch as the confident CMO, usually so strong and unshakable, turn away and cover his face mask with a fist. 

First Aid’s throat cables worked quickly and his voice was surprisingly steady when he spoke. “Lotty, I’m stepping out.”

The femme turned at last, her face plates void of nearly all color as she reviewed the datapad in her hand. “Primus. Are you alright?”

In loo of answering her question, the medic quickly made his way toward the door. “Ratchet is coming soon. He’s been briefed-” Without a backward glance, First Aid departed.

Rung knew what the young CMO was seeing when he looked at the empty shell that he’d become on the mediberth. He knew the depth of the trauma that First Aid had endured at Pharma’s hands, had seen the brilliant medic crumble as he described the horrors that he’d witnessed. 

First Aid and Ambulon had been going through the preparations to become amica endurae when the former Decepticon had been brutally murdered on Luna 1. The psychiatrist had no doubt that his own demise had likely thrown the slow-to-trust medic into a bit of a tailspin.

His demise. That’s what he was seeing, Rung realized, as he looked down at himself on the mediberth.

He hadn’t really thought of it that way as he watched the medics labor over his frame, trying everything in their power to bring the color back into his body’s plating. Rung hadn’t thought of himself as offline until he started seeing his body as ‘that’ and his disembodied self as ‘me.’ But as he stared at the door through which First Aid had fled, the orange mech began to understand what he’d done.

From beside the bio screens, Velocity looked through him, watching the door carefully before she bent over the prone form on the mediberth. Rung moved closer as the femme took one limp hand into her own and lifted it to her lips. He observed, his throat feeling tight, as the medic’s brow furrowed and she pressed his unfeeling palm to her own cheek.

“I know you didn’t bond with us and that’s okay. But if this is why, if all of this is why you didn’t want to…” The golden-opticed femme blinked quickly and took a halting vent before continuing. “If you thought we would love you less for this, you were fragging wrong. You were so wrong, Rung… This is all so wrong…”

Her voice was hoarse with tears, but Rung heard every word as the teal medic straightened once more. The psychiatrist didn’t look away from his frame on the mediberth when Ratchet arrived, nor did he turn around when the older medic told Velocity that Brainstorm and Nautica were waiting for her outside. Rung listened as she departed, her peds steps slow at first and then speeding up as she joined her surviving amicas outside.

_Her surviving amicas. ___

__What had he done?_ _


	21. Chapter 21

When Velocity was gone, Ratchet closed the door. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to proceed, a feeling that left his tanks feeling hollow. He always knew what to do, how to help those in his care. But as he reviewed the findings of his peers, the old medic found himself wondering if there was anything in existence that would help the mech in the mediberth.

There were at least three IV lines trailing from Rung’s left arm, plugged into one line in their haste to stabilize his fluctuating spark. Seeing nothing better to do, Ratchet moved and began the process of removing one of the needles. To have all three in one arm could potentially cause Rung’s already constricted line to collapse on itself.

With overly careful fingers, Ratchet removed one IV and pressed a thumb against the needle’s exit wound. He soon realized that he needn’t had worried about it as the screens indicated that Rung’s energon was too low as it was. Most of it had retreated to his spark chamber, his frame falling into stasis lock in an attempt to keep his spark turning. There was no energon in Rung’s limbs for him to lose, most of it being pumped out and cleaned via another machine.

Collecting himself, the battle-hardened medic went about preparing a fresh needle to re-apply the IV to the smaller mech’s other arm. But just before he began cleaning the area and searching for a viable line, Ratchet decided on a more long term approach.

The medic pulled up Rung’s frame scans and posted them on the wall across the mediberth from where he would work. “This won’t be pleasant,” he whispered to the orange mech, quickly selecting his utensils and placing them on a tray. Carefully, the medic nudged Rung’s thighs apart.

 

~o0o~

 

From the corner where he stood, Rung cringed away from the sight, sudden fear pulsing through his spark. He looked so exposed when Ratchet parted his legs, baring his closed interface panel. Something in his chest ached as he watched the doctor work and he felt nausea roil through his tanks. Primus, he wanted to hide away, to make himself say something to tell the medic how he felt right then.

But all that he could think of were the old pleas. Not to touch him, not again. Not there, please don’t, _please don’t hurt me again, please not like that _-__

__Of course Rung knew that Ratchet wouldn’t do what the Functionists had done to him. But the horror of his past trauma was still powerful enough to make the orange mech turn away from the sight of himself, strutless and open to be taken on the mediberth._ _

__He glanced back at the sound of the medic’s voice._ _

__Ratchet was looking up at the screen showing Rung’s vital stats, his optics narrowed. Even though he was no expert in medicine, the psychiatrist could see that his body’s sparkspin was elevated compared to what it had been a short time earlier._ _

__The old medic pulled his hands away from where they’d been resting on Rung’s knees. Almost too quietly for him to hear, Ratchet whispered. “Rung?”_ _

__The little psychiatrist wondered closer, out of his corner. Something was drawing him closer, refusing to let him back away even though he wanted to._ _

__Moving around the side of the berth, Ratchet reached to caress a hand down the limp frame’s cheek. Strangely, Rung swore that he felt a ghost of warmth on his own face. “Rung, can you hear me? Do you know what’s going on?”_ _

__Primus, he wanted to scream, to tell him that yes, he could hear him and he could see, that he didn’t want to be touched or prodded anymore. But he knew that the doctor wouldn’t be able to hear him. Rung came closer and brushed a hand across Ratchet’s shoulder. “Ratchet-“_ _

__The former CMO shivered and the plating that Rung had touched flicked irritably. Ratchet himself jumped slightly and cursed, bumping the tray that held the tools he’d collected. When he’d finally calmed down somewhat, the medic glared up at the screens revealing Rung’s vital stats._ _

__At first, Rung thought that the medic would brush off the strange feeling and blame it on something else. He knew that Ratchet wasn’t the superstitious, or even spiritual type and that a little sparkspin fluctuation and a touch wouldn’t be enough to convince the medic that he was there._ _

__Ratchet harrumphed at the screen before turning and looking straight at where Rung was standing. “You’re supposed to be processor dead, slaggit, so how can you hear me?”_ _

__

__~o0o~_ _

__

__Brainstorm pushed his nasal bridge into Velocity’s neck, not giving a frag that his mask was gone. Perceptor wasn’t around, so it didn’t matter. It was just him and his amicas._ _

__On the medic’s other side was an equally insistent Nautica, cuddling closely and managing to wrap her arms around Velocity’s trim waist. The purple femme’s vents were halting and rough, catching every so often. Brainstorm wiggled his hand around until it found hers. When he squeezed, she squeezed back._ _

__The three of them found themselves in Nautica’s berth, tangled together until one couldn’t be told apart from the others. Nightbeat hadn’t arrived yet and the teal scientist didn’t expect him to for some time. They took turns waiting in the medbay, staying close in case there was a change in Rung’s condition._ _

__The jet nuzzled Velocity’s hot cheek, pressing a kiss against her tear-stained face. He knew that none of them were bonded directly to Rung. But they had all participated in the ceremony, had pledged themselves to each other. Camiens took the amica endura rites to a different level than Cybertronians did. As a result, Brainstorm only knew a fraction of what Velocity and Nautica were feeling, bond or no bond._ _

__Brainstorm’s comm. pinged and he checked his HUD. His spark swelled slightly in his chest when he saw the name of the communication’s sender. Hurriedly, he opened it._ _

__:Is there anything that I can do?:_ _

__It was strangely short and sweet for the usually long-winded Perceptor. The flight frame tightened his hold around Velocity as he sent his reply. :Nothing really.:_ _

__:Let me know and keep me updated. I’m in the lab if you need anything.:_ _

__Brainstorm closed his HUD and refocused on Velocity’s whipping field. He sent pulses of reassurance and love through his own, trying his best not to become lost in the despair projected through his amicas’ fields. Within his spark, he could feel the turmoil and confusion that was swirling within theirs._ _


End file.
